The Crimson Badger, Book III: Journeys
by Highwing
Summary: One Badger Lord's army heads east, while the other heads west.
1. Chapter 27

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Twenty-Seven

A day and a half of marching had brought Urthfist and his eighty Long Patrol hares to the banks of a wide, shallow, gently-flowing stream, rippling its way across the beach sands on its slow and lazy way to the sea.

With Colonel Clewiston left behind to hold Salamandastron secure, Major Safford was the commanding hare of this small army. The Major stood now at the forefront of the group, surveying the broad stream with Traveller and their badger master. The woodland hare Browder was with them also, since Urthfist was still not sure he completely trusted the stranger and sought to test Browder at every opportunity.

"Doesn't look too deep," Safford observed. "Don't think we'll 'ave any trouble crossin' it. The shorter hares can swim if the middle's over their heads, tho' I doubt it comes to your shoulder even at its deepest, My Lord."

"I hope you are right, Major. I won't be doing any swimming myself in this armor." Urthfist looked down at Browder. "What can you tell us about this stream, friend?"

Browder shook his head, looking confused. "Me, Lord? I'm from Mossflower country. I've never been to the coastlands before ... I know nothing of this stream. This is my first time settin' eyes upon it."

Traveller stepped in. "But, if you're from the south of Mossflower, you must know of the various watercourses that run through the woods and out across the Western Plains."

Browder shrugged. "I'm a hare, not an otter, or a logboat shrew. Never 'ad much t' do with the waterways. Truth to tell, I'm not even much lookin' forward to crossin' this trickle here. Much rather keep me stompers on dry land, thank you very much."

"Then let me educate you." Traveller turned to Urthfist. "Unless I'm mistaken, My Lord, this is a stream that starts east of Mossflower and winds its way through the woodlands and across the plains, then drops below the mountains. I've heard it said that there's a lake deep under the earth, maybe even a system of underground rivers, that draws off a lot of the water. That's why this stretch of it is so shallow. Crossing here may not be a problem, but we'll have to cross it again on the other side of the mountains to get to Redwall, which lies well north of it. That won't be so easy; there, it's still a true river, fast-running and deep enough to carry boating traffic. We'll have to try to find some ferry shrews or a bridge, 'cos we won't be gettin' across otherwise."

"Maybe we should have gone north instead," Major Safford ventured. "We could have rounded the mountains up there, then gone south to Redwall."

Traveller shook his head. "This way is still shorter. There are a lot of boating shrews living in the Western Plains, assuming His Bloodiness hasn't killed or captured them, or chased them all away. We should be able to find some willing to help us without too much trouble."

"And perhaps make some allies among them," Urthfist added. "Traveller is right: my brother has been north, we are less likely to find friends and more likely to run into his vermin up that way. South was the only real choice for us."

The Badger Lord glanced to his left, at the line of mountains reared up along their east flank. Behind them to the north, the flat peak of Salamandastron wavered on the horizon, still visible even though they had left it a day and a half before. The noontide sun beat down upon the coastlands, washing the sandy terrain in a shimmering summer glare that made distant objects dance before a beast's vision. As much as these hares normally shied away from water and swimming, nearly all were relishing the chance to cool off while crossing this stream. For Urthfist, suited up in full armor, the midday heat was stifling. But far from wanting to rest, he desired only to push on, to meet his brother ... and his destiny.

"I had hoped to make better time than this," he heaved a deep sigh. "At this rate, we won't reach Redwall until summer's end."

"Oh, it's not that bad, M'Lord," said Traveller. "It's the blinkin' sand wot's been slowing us down. Once we cross this bally stream, I figure another day an' then we'll be far enough south to leave the coast an' start rounding the lower reach of the mountains. Another day after that should get us into the plains, where the going will be a lot easier. Then we'll make good speed to Redwall, 'specially if we hit up with some shrews right off."

"And if we don't?"

"Then march north 'til we get to the river, an' follow it east until we find somebeasts to help us cross. Keep in mind, that river may seem like a pain of a nuisance to us, but it's an obstacle for the other side as well. Not as likely to find our enemy to the south of it, which could be a big help to us in gettin' to Redwall."

"A good point, old friend." Urthfist stared at the stream before them. "Major, give the order to get us underway again. We'll stop for lunch a little later. For now, let's find out if this water is as cool and refreshing as it looks."

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It was late in the afternoon when the army of Urthblood neared the empty meadow where once had stood the old church of St. Ninian's.

The column of fighting beasts had settled into a brisk pace as the sun slipped toward the golden plains to their right. Young Winokur found the going hard on his unaccustomed legs and footpaws. His rigorous practice jousts with Montybank and frequent swims in the Abbey pond had kept him in fine shape, but a forced march used different muscles than the ones Wink usually exercised. He was glad their first day of the journey had commenced at noon, so that he would be able to rest after just a few hours.

The marchers' bobbing shadows stretched out toward the trees of Mossflower on their left. A short way ahead the treeline retreated from the roadside, yielding to the empty meadow and charred foundation of the demolished church. The steady drone of summer insects, punctuated by the intermittent trill and chirp of birdsong, provided a lulling backdrop to the grim parade and cast an almost trancelike mood over the column. Winokur felt a peaceful drowsiness tugging at his eyelids, in spite of the aching tightness in his legs.

A shadow from overhead, distorted into misshapen grotesquery by the low sun, suddenly grew large as a winged creature swooped down upon the lead marchers. Weasels and otters scattered, snatching at their slings and blades and javelins. Behind them, the rest of the ranks came to a surprised halt, bumped forward as their comrades ran into them. Within moments the entire column had come to a shuffling and somewhat confused stop. "Attack! We're under attack!"

The bird, a solitary sparrow, fluttered and hopped about in the road before them, apparently surprised at the commotion it had caused.

Winokur ran out to greet his Sparra friend. "Rafter! What are you doing here?"

Warnokur turned upon the bristling vanguard of his startled fellow soldiers. "Hold, hold! Down with your weapons! This bird's a friend!"

The wary Northlanders slowly lowered their arms. Urthblood strode forward to the Sparra, and Warnokur jogged along after him.

The sparrow bobbed and ducked appreciatively as Winokur playfully ruffled his neck feathers. "Me out catchum wormfood when fighterbeasts leave Abbey, wanna say goodbye to waterdogpal Winkker."

Urthblood towered over Rafter, glowering down at the bird with a scowl. "That was a very foolish thing to do. My forces have only recently fought a pitched battle with crows and ravens. You could easily have been mistaken for an enemy and slain."

Winokur stood by his winged friend. "He was only being courteous, My Lord!"

"Yes, and we would have been the last goodbeasts to ever receive the blessings of his thoughtfulness." The Badger Lord appraised Rafter with a long, critical gaze. "Will you be walking with us awhile, or heading right back to Redwall?"

"Rafter flylong, flyfast, wings muchtired. Not fly alla thisway for littlespeak. Me stay forwhile with Winkpal."

"Very well." Urthblood surveyed the terrain ahead of them. "What is that?" he asked the two Redwall otters, pointing to the delapidated foundation by the roadside.

"That's where old St. Ninian's used to be," answered Winokur, who knew his Mossflower history better than his father. "It was abandoned and rundown for most of the time Redwall has been standing, and was used for shelter by a number of our enemies, including Cluny the Scourge. Several generations back it was burned down so that it could never be used by evil beasts again."

"A sound strategic move," Urthblood mused. "But that clearing is still a good spot for an army to rest. The sun is nearly down, and I think we have covered enough distance for one afternoon. We will camp here for the night, and make an early start in the morning."

Winokur tried to hide his relief at this announcement. He felt he was just about done in for one day, although he wasn't about to admit to such a thing with his father and Lord Urthblood standing right there. The young otter turned to Rafter, his paw around the bird's wing-shoulders. "Well, Rafter matey, looks like you'll be nesting with us tonight, since you birdfolk don't like flying in the dark. Hope you like marching rations!"

Rafter's beak curved down in distaste. "Nothanks. Me forage for good wormfood from woods'n'plains, gobble up tasty groundcrawlers!"

Warnokur glanced from the sparrow to his son and back again, then shook his head. "The tastes of some creatures!" he muttered.

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Winokur enjoyed his first night sleeping outdoors. It reminded him a little of summer nights he'd slept out on the lawns or in the orchard of the Abbey, or during one of the shrimping expeditions he'd made to the River Moss. Abbess Mhera's old habit served double duty as bedding, and was perfect for that purpose. And, with a chance to get off his paws and relax during a dinner of fresh Redwall fare, he found that the knots and kinks in his muscles weren't nearly as bad as he'd thought. With two shrimp and vegetable pasties rumbling contentedly in his stomach and the sonorous snores of Urthblood's bivouacked otter platoon all around him, Winokur was soon adding snores of his own to the chorus.

The dawn broke clear and calm, the gentle kiss of a cool summer morn upon the waking woodlands and meadows of Mossflower. A more perfect day for travel could not have been asked for, if this early promise was fulfilled.

Winokur and Warnokur awoke with savory smoky aromas filling their large nostrils. The two Redwall otters sat up from their grassy roadside beds, Wink stretching and yawning widely.

Brot and Olimpo, two of Urthblood's Northlands otters whom Wink had befriended during the army's time at Redwall, sat nearby, taking in the youngbeast's wakeup ritual. Brot nudged his companion in the ribs. "By me rudder, if that scamps's tryin' t' catch flies, 'ee's opened up wide 'nuff to take in a whole swarm!"

"Must be tired of alla that fine Redwall scoff," Olimpo replied. "Fine by me - let 'im eat his flies, that's more o' the good stuff fer you an' me, matey!"

Winokur caught their conversation. "Hate to disappoint you guys, but no Sparra scoff for this otter. Speaking of which, has anybeast seen Rafter? He was nestled down right here beside me last night ... "

"Oh, 'ee was up 'fore the crack o' dawn," Brot reported. "Them birdfolk gotta sing to th' sunrise, announce th' day an' such, y' know."

As if to prove the point, a raucous trilling and chattering broke out from the lower branches of a nearby ash. Rafter spread his wings and glided over to land nimbly alongside his young otter friend. The two traded playful punches and beak jabs. "Hey, you ol' featherbottom, where you been? Out slurping up worms, I bet."

"Wormfood good inna thismeadow. Lotsa juicyfat worms, crunchy beetlebugs too."

Brot and Olimpo exchanged glances, sticking out their tongues in distaste.

Warnokur stood and stretched, then groaned as his spine audibly cracked. Winokur looked on with concern, reminding himself that his father was more than twice his age.

"Oof! I'm gettin' too old fer sleepin' on th' ground like this."

Olimpo snickered. "Gee, give Warny a nice comfy Redwall bed to sleep in fer a few nights, an' 'ee goes soft on us! What's a matter, y'old fogey - forget wot it's like to be one of us grunts?"

"After a march like yesterday's, everybeast oughta have a nice soft bed fer reward. Don't suppose there's any bed 'n' breakfast inns 'tween here an' Salamandastron?"

"You tell us, Warnky - these're your woods, not ours."

"None that I ever heard tell of, an' I been as far south as the big river - reckon that's still a couple days ahead of us. Fer now, I guess we'll hafta make do with our provisions an' foraged vittles. Speakin' of which, my stomach an' me are lookin' fer breakfast just now. Smells like our cooks have got a good start on that."

"That they have," Captain Saybrook broke in, sauntering over to bid good morning to the two Redwallers. "So, how's the military life agreein' with you, Wink lad?"

"Fine, I suppose, Cap'n," Winokur replied, pulling on his habit robe. "Although, so far it's not much different than many an outing I've done in nearby Mossflower. And please remember, Captain sir, that I'm here as an envoy of Redwall, not as a soldier."

"Oh, I ain't forgotten that," Saybrook said with a friendly smile, "but fighters an' peacemakers alike both hafta eat, eh? Come on, I'll show you what's good, an' what you should skip. Gratch c'n whip up some fine fixin's now 'n' agin, but other dishes of his ain't fit fer a bilge rat. Let's see what's on th' menu this mornin'."

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Saybrook ended up escorting the Redwallers past the main cooking fire tended by the rat Gratch to a smaller side fire presided over by the shrews of Captain Bremo's command, whose tastes were a closer match to those of otters. A good many of the thicktailed beasts were already gathered there, enjoying a breakfast of acorn oatbread and a delicious summer stew that the shrews had thrown together from ingredients gathered from the woods bordering the meadow. Father and son sat down at the base of an ancient sycamore, where they could talk to Brot, Olimpo and Captain Saybrook as they all ate. Rafter settled onto his tailfeathers beside Winokur, having earlier eaten his fill of food that the otters would have found less than savory.

Warnokur made quite a show of chewing his bread. It was from a loaf that had been baked at Redwall the previous morning, part of Friar Hugh's send-off gift for the departing warriors. Warnokur was the only one in the group not dipping his bread into the stew, since he preferred the taste of it dry.

"Uungh!" He worked his jaws strenuously. "Nothing like day-old bakes t' keep the ol' chompers strong."

"Tomorrow it'll be two-day-old bread," Brot said. "An' twice as hard."

Captain Saybrook shook his head. "Uh-uh. Come tomorrow, it'll be gone. This gang o' ours knows a good thing when they taste it. Slightly stale Redwall bread's still better'n the hard biscuits this lot's used to. It'll all be scoffed by lunchtime, you see if it ain't."

"Pity there's no way to keep bread fresh for more than a day or two," Winokur lamented.

"Actshully, lad, there is," Brot informed him. "Up north, somebeasts use specially-made sealed tins. Like long metal boxes. Stick a loaf in one o' those, keeps soft fer days."

Olimpo nodded to confirm his friend's words. "Too heavy to lug along on a march like this, tho'."

"Too bad," said Warnokur. "At least our shrew pals here were able t' pack up a good supply of flour from Redwall. Should be 'nuff to keep us in hot oatcakes and shrewbread fer most o' the way to Salamandastron. If anybeasts can whip up good grub from nearly nuthin', it's shrews."

"Hear hear, matey," Brot and Olimpo agreed heartily.

Winokur polished off his morning stew, sopping up the last remnants from the bottom of his bowl with a smidgen of bread. He started to rise. "Anybeast for seconds?"

The two Northlanders guffawed. "Harr harr! You might's well sit yore rudder right back down, Wink - you'll get no seconds from those shrews."

"Huh? There were for dinner last night ... "

Warnokur tossed a crust to Rafter, who caught it deftly in his bill and swallowed it greedily. "Only 'cos there was so much fresh Abbey food to be used up, son. Startin' t'day, we're on marchin' rations, so get used to one servin' per meal, an' no more'n that."

Winokur fell back onto his tail, as disheartened as any youngbeast would be to hear such news. "No more second helpings? None at all?"

"Takes some gettin' used to," Warnokur admitted, "'specially when you been hangin' 'round creatures who're used to three or four, like some Abbey otters I could name!"

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While most of the Northlands soldiers relaxed and ate their fill for the day's march ahead of them, Urthblood called a brief conference with a pawful of his moles, hedgehogs and shrews across the roadside ditch out on the edge of the Western Plains. When the army finally assembled in the road to resume its southward march, those woodlanders who'd met with Urthblood broke away from the main column, setting off on a direct westward course straight across the plains.

The sun was well up by this time, lighting the upper forest canopy in a clear blaze of green and throwing deep shadows across the road to the south, where the woods grew up to the path's edge once more. The air was fresh and crisp, and it would be many hours yet before the sun could make the day uncomfortably warm for the marchers.

As the official envoy of Redwall, Winokur took his place alongside Urthblood at the head of the column. Warnokur and Rafter went with him there, the sparrow hop-skipping to match the pace of the ground beasts. The deserters did not escape the young otter's notice; he gazed their way as they dispersed into the Western Plains. "I say, My Lord, what was that about? Did you just dismiss some of your troops?"

"Scouts," Urthblood replied. "If my brother has indeed departed from Salamandastron to come to Redwall, he will approach from the west. He is unfamiliar with these lands, and may cross the plains well to the north or south of the Abbey ... which means that we may still meet up with him on this road. If so, I will want to have plenty of warning."

"Makes sense." Winokur thought about it a moment. "But why shrews, moles and 'hogs, then? They're the slowest creatures in your whole army. Any of your rats or weasels would be able to report back faster."

"My brother would instantly slay any vermin he met. Those scouts I sent might not be very fast, but they can pass themselves off as simple woodlanders if my brother and his hares confront them. Armed vermin lookouts would only alert Urthfist to my presence in Mossflower. The creatures I sent can make their way back to me in their own good time without arousing suspicion."

"Ah. Good strategic thinking ... "

"Tactical, actually," Urthblood corrected. "There is a difference."

"Oh." Winokur didn't ask what the difference was. "But I'd have thought you'd be using your birds for scouting the lands. Seems to me they'd do the best job, wouldn't they?"

"They will be helping, of course. But beasts on the ground can catch things that would escape a bird flying high, and the other way around. That is why I am using both."

Rafter, who'd been following the conversation, chipped in with his opinion. "Big stripey badgerdog thoughta everything!"

"Sure," Warnokur said. "That's why Lord Urthblood is the greatest fighting beast who's ever lived."

Urthblood seemed to come close to smiling upon hearing these words. Close, but not quite.


	2. Chapter 28

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rafter returned to Redwall Abbey just as lunch was getting underway.

Swooping down in two wide circles over the walled grounds, the young Sparra failed to see the Abbess anywhere. Vanessa, it just so happened, was out in the orchard taking her midday meal with Lady Mina, Machus and the other Abbey leaders, and the spreading branches of a fruit-laden pear tree hid her from Rafter's questing gaze. Finally giving a mid-air shrug of his wing shoulders to himself, he rolled out of his circular flight plan and dove down to the wallsteps by the main gate, where Maura and Sister Aurelia sat tending the Abbey youngsters.

The badger matriarch had noticed Rafter's shadow chasing around the lawns long before the sparrow commenced his typical daredevil dive, so nobeast was not overly startled when plummeted toward them. The children were delighted as always by the bird's acrobatics, and Rafter indulged them with a playfull screech from his beak as he braked to a furiously fluttering halt just before plopping springingly onto the grass upon his outstretched talons. Very young voles, hedgehogs and moles giggled and laughed as Rafter took bows with one wing behind his back and the other folded in front of him.

"Do it again!" Droge demanded.

"Maybe some otherday, hedgepig tyke." Rafter turned to the two babysitters, nimbly hopping as he did in order to avoid the hurtling ball of juvenile hedgehog who was miffed at being denied his request for an encore. As the rolling mass of spines that was Droge tumbled harmlessly beneath his raised claws, Rafter rattled off to Maura the news that Lord Urthblood's column was making good progress, and that all was well with the marchers.

"Rafter gonna miss Winkurfriend, hope pal waterdog come backsafe to Redwall."

"Yes," Maura nodded, "so do we all. I'll make sure the Abbess hears your message, Rafter. Our thanks to you."

The sparrow bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Me tired from longfly, go take sleepynap up in Warbeak Loft. Goodday, groundfriends." Rafter flapped up into the sky, dwindling in the high sun until he vanished under the eaves of the Sparra court.

"Well," said Aurelia, "at least we know they haven't encountered any trouble along the way so far, even if they are still relatively close to Redwall. I'm just glad that grim badger's away from here. Now I don't have to hide in my Infirmary anymore for fear of running into him."

"Oh, he wasn't that bad, Aurelia," Maura chided her.

"Hmm. Maybe you didn't notice as much, being a badger yourself. But to a little mouse like me, having that unsmiling brute around could be downright suffocating!"

"If his fears about his brother Urthfist are on the mark, there could be another badger warrior on the way here who's twice as grim as Lord Urthblood ever was ... and maybe dangerous too."

"Hmph! If he shows up with hares at his side, it'll still be an improvement over Urthblood's lot!" Aurelia noticed Droge was still on a roll, tumbling further away from them. "Hey, you little spiky terror, get back here!"

"Oh, let him be, Sister," Maura said. "He's heading right for the orchard, where Vanessa and the others are. No danger of bumping into any vermin, as long as he doesn't swerve toward one of the wallgates."

Aurelia studied the somersaulting hogchild's progess. "I suppose you're right, Maura ... "

At least two weasels or rats had joined the guards at each gate, mingling with the Redwall otters, while the rest remained on the walltop. Machus was the only questionable creature in the orchard, although his fellow foxes had been seen that day crossing the Abbey grounds from time to time as if the place belonged to them. Vanessa had said to trust them and treat them like fellow goodbeasts, but Monty and Alex weren't the only ones keeping a sharp eye on the Northlanders.

"Vermin roaming freely inside Redwall, while two Badger Lords are at such loggerheads ... who could have imagined it would come to this?"

"Yes," Maura nodded, reigning in a wayward molebabe, "who could have imagined?"

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Machus had issued Montybank an invitation.

"Duelling contests, y'say?" The otter Skipper twiddled his whiskers as he mulled over the swordfox's proposal. "'Tween my crew an' yours?"

"You don't have to give me your answer right this moment," Machus said. "But it's not satisfactory for my troops to simply stand watch on the walltop or help guard the gates. They could be here at Redwall for many days, perhaps the rest of this season, and they will have to drill sooner or later to keep their skills sharp. I was planning to take them outside in the meadow where we practiced before with Lord Urthblood, since I am sure the Abbess would not want such violent displays inside your walls. But, if you and your otters would be willing, perhaps we could instead match your jousting skills to ours, and make something of a sport of it."

The other Abbey leaders around the table in the orchard looked on with a mix of emotions upon their faces. "You mean, your foxes against Redwall's otters?" old Arlyn asked.

"No, not my foxes," Machus replied. "We are swordsbeasts, and there are none in Redwall to match us in that area. And the shrews in my force are too small for such a thing. But these rats and weasels would perfectly complement your otters, both in size and strength, and in their choice of weaponry, which is mostly staffs and javelins."

"I think it's a very good idea," Lady Mina offered enthusiastically. "These Northlanders have led a mostly grim existence, even under Lord Urthblood's service. Most of them already have half a lifetime's drilling experience under their belts. I'm sure they would be gladdened to exchange their usual cheerless battle exercises for something a little more ... frivolous."

"Exactly my thinking," Machus nodded. "What say you, Abbess?"

"Well ... " Vanessa tried not to let her misgivings show too plainly. The fox chieftain had presented his idea in his most courteous manner, and received instant support from the Gawtrybe Lady. It would be hard to voice disagreement without appearing curmudgeonly. "Tomorrow, perhaps? I will discuss it more fully with Montybank later."

"I had planned on giving them the rest of today off," said Machus, "since they worked so hard this morning, helping to get their comrades ready for marching. But tomorrow I will have to drill them, either outside in their accustomed manner or in here as part of the contest I suggested. By all means, sleep on it, and in the morning - hey!"

The gathered adult beasts had been so intent upon their mealtime discussion that they failed to notice little Droge - littler than usual, since he was tightly curled in a ball - hurtling across the lawn toward their table. The oblivious young hedgehog was brought up short when he connected solidly with Machus's leg, eliciting a surprised gasp from the swordfox.

Droge uncurled and sat on his rump, footpaws out before him, gazing innocently up at Machus. "Heya, Mr. Squirreldog!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Droge reached out and tugged at the fox's brush. "Y'gotta big bushy tail like a squirrel. That makes you a squirreldog."

"Droge! Be polite to our guest!" Vanessa looked to Machus. "My apologies. Most of our young ones had never seen a fox before you and your squad came to Redwall. They don't quite know what to make of you."

"Oh, I don't mind at all, Abbess." Machus gingerly ruffled Droge's headspikes. "Squirreldog - I rather like that name. Where did you hear it?"

Droge puffed out his chest proudly. "Made it up m'self. Now that's what we all call you!"

"This one always has been something of the ringleader among the young ones," Alex explained. "If he devises some way of disrupting our peaceful home, you can be sure the other children will pick up on it."

Maura came bustling over, gathering Droge into her arms. "I'm sorry, Machus, I didn't think my little runaway here would reach you so fast. Did this unruly pincushion prick you?"

The fox smoothed his leg fur with one paw. "Not enough to draw blood, thank goodness for youthful soft spines. It's a war wound I'll wear with pride."

"Oh. Good." Maura turned to the Abbess. "Vanessa, that birdbrain Rafter just flew back from seeing off Winokur. He said the army is now a little south of where old St. Ninian's used to be, and has encountered no trouble of any kind. They're hoping to make better time today, and they should be far from Redwall by this evening."

"That's encouraging," Mina said.

"But it raises an interesting point." Machus addressed Vanessa. "Abbess, one of your Sparra was able to keep track of Lord Urthblood's main force this morning, even though they were long out of sight of this Abbey. I think we should make better use of your birds. They can easily range a day's march from Redwall in any direction. It would be a good way to know whether Urthfist might be approaching."

"I'm sure they would let us know such a thing immediately. They're out foraging all the time."

"Maybe so, Abbess, but I might rest easier if we formalized the arrangement, so to speak. Lord Urthblood relies upon his own birds heavily for surveillance, and they have aided him greatly in his various Northland campaigns. I only suggest that we do the same."

"It makes sense," Mina backed up Machus.

"Very well," said Vanessa. "Maura, once you get Droge settled down with Sister Aurelia, why don't you and Cyril go ring the toll that will summon Highwing? We would have to consult with him about this."

"I'll see to it right away." The badger matriarch guided the young hedgehog away from the adults' table. "Come along, you awful pawful. You've troubled your elders enough for one day."

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The Abbey leaders lingered at the table in the orchard after Machus excused himself to make the rounds of his troops. Alexander wandered off with Lady Mina to visit with the squirrel sentries and see how they were getting along with the Northland walltop watchers.

"Squirreldogs!" Geoff chuckled. "That Droge can sure come up with them, can't he?"

Old Arlyn wasn't quite so amused. "Yes, and he can cause trouble too. Was it my imagination, or did Machus's paw go right for his sword hilt when Droge collided with him?"

"Yes, I thought I noticed that too," Vanessa frowned. "It happened so fast, I couldn't be sure. Machus certainly is quick, I'll give him that."

"Aye," Monty nodded. "An' not just quick, but subtle too. Th' way he kept his paw goin' past the hilt so it looked like he was just turnin' 'round in surprise an' not reachin' fer his blade. Don't reckon we could've caught him, even if we'd called him on it."

"Well, he is a trained fighting beast," Vanessa sighed. "If he was reaching for his sword, I'd like to think it was just his reflexes. As Monty pointed out, he certainly recovered quickly enough. But Machus and his foxes are supposedly the best of Urthblood's swordsbeasts. Would one of these rats or weasels have been able to stay its paw so swiftly?"

"Let's not leave out Urthblood's shrews," Geoff chimed in. "I know they're woodlanders, but they're as grim as the badger who leads them. And the ones down in the tunnel outside Hanchett's cell have a killer's gleam in their eyes. I wouldn't trust them not to slay a beast at the flick of a whisker."

"Maybe so, but it's the larger beasts that concern me more." The Abbess turned to the otter Skipper. "Monty, you've spent a fair amount of time with those rats and weasels these past two days. What's your take on them?"

"Well, Nessa, wot can I say?" Monty shrugged. "They're 'ere to help protect our Abbey, an' as far as that goes, they're actin' professionally soldier-like, I s'pose. They take orders from me 'n' Alex 'n' Lady Mina 'n' Machus calmly 'nuff. But these troopers ain't as timid as their captains were when we first invited 'em in with Urthblood. Mebbe it's 'cos their master's not around to intimidate 'em, or mebbe the lower ranks ain't as worried 'bout makin' good impressions as the officers were. Wot little gab I've shared with 'em makes me glad they ain't me bunkmates, if'n y' know wot I mean."

"Well, I'd hardly expect that they'd become refined Abbeybeasts overnight," said Arlyn. "We knew they'd be a little rough around the edges."

"That's a kind way o' puttin' it," Monty huffed.

"Crudeness is not grounds for banishment from Redwall," Vanessa reminded her companions. "If it were, I could name some hedgehogs who wouldn't be living here now."

"And mayhaps an otter or three," Monty admitted. "Not t' mention the Guosim shrews who winter here. They're about as tumble-about a crew as any ye're like t' meet anywheres."

"Maura and Aurelia are doing a good job of keeping the young ones away from those vermin, in spite of Droge's little misadventure just now," Vanessa said. "And I think the rest of us know enough to give rats and weasels plenty of elbow room. We'll keep this present arrangement until I see reason to change it. These soldiers are donating their services to us for our benefit. As long as they do nothing to violate our rules and continue to do what Alex and Monty tell them to, we'll just have to put up with them."

"Yes, but for how long?" Arlyn asked. "What if it gets to be the end of summer, and Urthfist still hasn't shown up? Are these beasts to be permanent residents and defenders of Redwall?"

"Season's end is still a long way off," said Vanessa. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it ... although, hopefully, we won't have to."

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Droge couldn't wait to share his new nickname with all his playmates.

"Hey, guess what!" he announced proudly as Maura escorted him back to Aurelia and the other children by the west wallsteps. "I'm th' Awful Pawful!"

His friends found this every bit as amusing as Droge did, laughing robustly at the apt nickname. "Hurr hurr," chuckled Padgett the mole, "'ee's ee Oreful Poreful, roight 'nuff."

"Offle Poffle!" Cuffy the dormouse seconded in delight.

Just then Maura spied Droge's aunt Balla striding along the lawns with a long window pole slung over her shoulder. Maura steered Droge toward the cellarhog.

"Hullo, Balla, would you mind keeping this tyke under your wing for awhile? He's already given me and Sister Aurelia enough grief for one afternoon, and your paw's just as strong with him as mine is."

"Be a pleasure, Maura. Li'l Drogey an' me ain't spent as much time t'gether lately as we oughtta. Come along, ye mischievious spikeball."

As Balla and Droge wandered off, paw in paw, Aurelia turned to the badger. "What just happened over at the elders' table, Maura? Looked to me like Droge went and spiked exactly the wrong beast."

"It was nothing," Maura replied. "Nothing at all, I'm sure."


	3. Chapter 29

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Twenty-Nine

Droge was still having a ball being a ball.

Of all the hedgehogs at Redwall, young Droge prided himself in being the champion roller. He could curl himself into a tighter ball than anybeast, and propel himself with unmatched speed and accuracy. And so, while his Aunt Balla was busy attending to the second-floor dormitory windows, Droge entertained himself by hurling his bristling young form this way and that across the north lawns. It was a good place for such rowdy behavior, since most of the Abbeydwellers preferred the sunnier east and south lawns for their leisure.

Unfortunately, Balla was so busy with her chore and Droge was so busy with his rolling that they both failed to notice the five Northland rats who'd come down from the walltop for a rest on the soft grass. Looking to remain apart from the Redwallers so as not to cause them any trouble, they chose a spot on the north lawns, halfway between the wall and the main Abbey. Since there was nobeast around except for the two 'hogs, it seemed a safe place to relax on the inviting greensward.

Finishing with her last window, Balla turned and saw that Droge was nowhere in her immediate vicinity. His frenzied rolling had carried him a good distance across the grounds. Scanning about until she finally spotted him, she gasped to herself and yelled, "Droge, watch it!"

But it was too late. Droge was brought up short with a solid thud. There was a startled cry of pain, telling Droge that he'd connected with his victim spine-first. And the deep, gruff voice was not that of a familiar Redwaller.

"Yeeoow!"

Resisting the urge to immediately launch himself back the way he'd come, Droge uncurled and sat innocently gazing up at the rat who stood glaring down at him, massaging his pricked backside with both paws. The young 'hog put on his most angelic smile, hoping to bluff his way out of this situation as he had done earlier with Machus.

But Wolfrum the rat was not Machus.

The other four rats remained seated, laughing boisterously at their companion's mishap. "Harr harr hurr! Wolfrum got hisself runned over by a baby 'og!"

"Yeah ... haven't seen 'im dance like that since that wasp stung 'im on the bum up north!"

Wolfrum stared down at Droge with eyes that were misting over red with rage. He was not the handsomest of creatures to begin with, but his expression now made him look like some horrible ogre. The sight set Droge's spikes quivering in fright.

"I'm .. I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Rat, sir!"

Wolfrum laid his claw on the hilt of his sword and started to draw the weapon. "Not sorry enough!"

Balla arrived on the scene at that moment, bustling over as fast as her short legs would allow, the window pole slung over her shoulder. She was not the least bit intimidated by Urthblood's battle-hardened vermin, especially where her nephew was concerned. This was her home turf, and she wasn't about to let any Northland bully push her around on Redwall's own grounds.

"Hey, what's goin' on here?" she demanded.

Wolfrum paused, blade half-drawn from its scabbard. He was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner by anybeast except his commanding officers. But his anger remained unabated. "Does this little hellion belong to you?"

"'ee's my nephew." Balla pulled Droge up onto his footpaws, sensing that a swift escape might soon be in order. "What's with the sword, rat?"

"The brat impaled me, that's what!"

"Well, I'm sure 'ee didn't mean ta. Didja, Drogey?"

"No'm, Auntie Balla." Droge hung his head, peering up through eyes that were as big as he could make them.

"Well, then, go on an' apologize right an' proper t' this rat."

"'m sorry, Mr. Rat. Very, very sorry."

"Good lad." Balla patted Droge on the headspikes and turned him back toward the south lawns. "You run along now, an' don't go stickin' yer spines inta anymore beasts."

"Hey, I weren't done with 'im!" Wolfrum protested as Droge ran off. "The li'l rotter wounded me! I demand satisfaction!"

"Oh?" Balla bounced the long pole on her shoulder, glad for the quarterstaff pointers that Montybank had given her these past few seasons. "You jus' scared my nephew's spines straight. The tyke's 'ad a hard 'nuff time. T'were an accident, 'ee apologized, an' I'm sure 'ee's learnt 'is lesson." She glanced around at Wolfrum's rear end. "An' as fer yer 'wound,' jus' go soak yer bottom in our pond, an' you should be good as new in a trice. Nobeast's come to any real harm. Let it be."

"Not good 'nuff!" Now Wolfrum's sword came all the way out of its sheath. "Young brats like that've gotta disciplined. He's got punishment comin' to 'im, an' I'm the rat that's gonna give it to 'im!"

Balla saw that the barbarous rat would not be satisfied until he'd had blood, and Balla's would do if Droge was beyond reach. Fortunately, none of his fellow rats were rallying to Wolfrum's aid. Perhaps they had more sense than to pick a fight with their hosts, or perhaps they found the whole thing amusing, since it wasn't any of them who'd felt Droge's pointy backside. But none were stepping forward to play peacemaker either, so Balla wasn't sure what would happen if a real fight broke out.

"Well, we'll see what yer fox cap'n has t' say 'bout that, 'cos 'ere 'ee comes right now."

Balla had been looking over Wolfrum's shoulder. The rat turned, thinking Machus was approaching from behind him. The instant his attention was off Balla, the cellarkeeper swung her window pole down from her shoulder and drove one end into Wolfrum's stomach.

The rat doubled over with a surprised groan. Before he could recover, Balla smacked the rod hard against Wolfrum's paw. The sword fell from his numbed grasp. Balla immediately stepped forward to stand upon the blade with both feet, depriving her adversary of his weapon.

"I said let it rest, rat! Or d'you wanna find out th' hard way how tough we Redwallers really are?"

Balla had the business end of her window pole aimed at Wolfrum in case he was determined to press the matter. The rat began to sway on his footpaws, ever so slightly at first but then more noticeably, making it difficult for Balla to keep the rod centered on his belly.

"Hey, no tricks, rat or I'll - "

Balla never got a chance to say just what she'd do. Wolfrum spun suddenly to one side, then in toward Balla. By the time she could react, she was thrusting her pole at empty air.

Wolfrum dodged the rod, grabbing it himself, and now it was Balla's turn to take a poke in the stomach. For a few moments they struggled, but the Northlander's superior strength and training won out, and Balla was quickly pushed off her feet and relieved of her weapon.

Wolfrum cast aside the window pole and snatched up his sword. He held the point at Balla's throat, pinning the hedgehog to the ground.

"That were a pretty good move, fer a fat lady 'hog," he sneered, "but didja think I never had no quarterstaff trainin' m'self? This ain't no bumblin' country rat you've gone an' picked a fight with. Lessee now, I ain't gonna kill you, that'd be discourteous. But I think I'll take yer ear fer a sooverneer. Which 'un'd you rather do without, yer left," he flicked the swordtip against that ear, "or yer right?"

One of the other rats plucked worriedly at Wolfrum's sleeve. "Hey, Wolf, you better - "

"Shaddup, Speeg." Wolfrum's attention was all on Balla, squirming beneath the pressing blade. "I got business t' take care o' here. Don't interrupt. Well, 'hog, which lug will it be? Or should I take yer tongue instead? You don't seem t' be usin' it much, all of a sudden."

Balla looked up at the wickedly grinning rat, then once more past Wolfrum. "I plan on keepin' alla my parts, friend, but you might be losin' some 'o yours, judgin' by the look on that fox's face."

Wolfrum's gaze did not leave his prisoner. "Heh heh, that's a good 'un, ain't it mateys? Thinks she can fool this rat twice with th' same ruse. Whaddya take me fer, one o' yer - "

A fisted paw stuck Wolfrum solidly in the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground, stunned.

The other rats had moved back to make room for Machus, who this time really had come up behind Wolfrum. The fox bent down and grabbed the hostile rat's sword while Wolfrum rolled around clutching his head and moaning.

Balla got to her feet and nodded gratefully to the swordfox. "Much obliged. I was a-fearin' this brute were gonna slice me up."

"My apologies, Balla. This idiot seems to have forgotten where he is." Machus whacked the protrate rat with the flat of his own blade. "Wolfrum! What in the name of seven hells do you think you were doing?"

Wolfrum cringed into a sitting position, cowed by the authority of Urthblood's second-in-command. "But, sir, her son stabbed me!"

"Nephew," Balla curtly corrected. "An' it were jus' some prickles, no hard spikes. All an accident. Droge was jus' playin'."

"Yes, he bumped into me earlier, and no harm done." Machus glared down at Wolfrum. "And he didn't injure you so badly that you couldn't fight. Lucky for you I got here before you could do any real damage. If you'd drawn one drop of this good hedgehog's blood, I'd have drawn a lot more of yours."

Wolfrum gulped, as the color drained from his face.

Machus studied the rat's sword. "You won't be getting this back anytime soon. I have half a mind to send you into our next battle without it, just so you can see how it feels to be an unarmed beast facing armed warriors. Ah, well ... I hope you enjoyed your rest here, because you'll be spending the night outside the walls."

"But ... but what if that mad badger an' his hares show up? I'll be slaughtered!"

"You should have thought of that before you drew your sword on a Redwaller. Now, if you survive the night, maybe we'll let you back inside for a decent breakfast ... but only if you swear never to do anything so staggeringly stupid again!"

Machus turned to the other rats. "In fact, I'm sorely tempted to banish all of you for the night. Were you just going to sit by and let this moron harm a Redwaller, without lifting a paw to stop him? Nothing like this is to happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

The four chastised rodents muttered and mumbled and nodded meekly.

"Good. Now get this worthless pile of flea-bitten fur outside, and out of my sight!"

Machus certainly had the command of his troops. The four rats jumped smartly into action, taking Wolfrum by the arms and leading him away toward the north wallgate. Wolfrum made no further protest; he knew how useless that would be.

Maura came bustling around the corner of the main Abbey just as the rats departed. The badger matriarch held Droge by one paw. She looked at Balla and Machus, then to the rats, and back again. "Trouble?"

"Nearly," said Machus. "But it's taken care of."

"Oh? From what Droge told me, he thought one of those rats was going to split his aunt wide open. You okay, Balla?"

"Who, me?" Balla shrugged casually. "Take more'n a stinky ol' rat to end my days, Maura."

"Didja wallop 'im good, Auntie Balla?"

She grinned down at her nephew. "I got me a good poke or two in, Drogey." Slinging her retrieved window pole back over her shoulder and taking Droge's paw from Maura, she headed back toward the Abbey. "Come along, y' liddle ripsnorter. After I get this 'ere ratsticker put where it belongs, you can help me do some tastin' down in th' cellars."

The two hedgehogs wandered off one way, while Machus nodded politely and took his leave of Maura to rejoin his fellow foxes up on the walltop.

Maura was left standing alone on the north lawns, having been hastily summoned to a crisis that had evaporated before she'd even arrived. But from what she'd just seen and heard, she suspected that Redwall had come a lot closer to seeing bloodshed this day than anybeast was admitting.

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A gentle summer rain fell over Redwall that night, kissing the Abbey and its grounds with a light veil of moisture. Wolfrum's expulsion had been witnessed by enough of the wallgate otter guards and the squirrel sentries on the walltop so that his banishment was no great secret. All that Balla would tell Vanessa and the other Abbey leaders was that he had been nasty toward her and Droge, and deserved to spend the night outside. Machus backed up this version of events in equally vague terms, and since Maura had not actually been on paw to see the altercation for herself, she could provide no insight to the matter.

But there were two signs - neither missed by Vanessa - indicating that this incident had been more serious than Balla and Machus were letting on. First was the way Machus and Mina had conferred in hushed tones just before dinner, whispering so that nobeast could overhear their stone-faced exchange. The other sign, and the one that was much more telling to Vanessa, was that Droge was not boasting of this adventure to his fellow youngsters. Normally the carefree hogchild would be bragging of his bravery to every pair of willing ears he could find, but today he was holding his silence. Droge was shaken up ... and it took a lot to shake up that youngbeast.

Otherwise, nobeast had come to any harm, and if Balla did not see fit to pursue the matter, Vanessa felt she could only leave it at that. The culprit was barred from the Abbey as punishment for his behavior, and both Mina and Machus insisted that this was sufficient. Disciplining their troops was their business, they maintained, and this had been done.

And so, while most of the Abbeybeasts settled into their soft beds lulled by the soothing patter and shush of the light rainfall that washed the countryside, Wolfrum was forced to seek out the scant shelter of the nearest trees. He grumbled and cursed at the fates that would leave him out of doors, alone and unarmed, on such a damp night. In his solitary grousing he blamed every creature he could think of - Droge and Balla and Machus and his fellow rats and even Lord Urthblood - every creature except himself.

The only other beasts who took more than passing note of the gentle summer shower were the night sentries on the ramparts and at the wallgates. The otters didn't mind the wetness at all, and Urthblood's troops mostly just shook it off, since it was a rather pleasant nighttime rain and they'd had to fight and march in far worse weather up north. Only the rats muttered a few sour complaints between themselves, while the Redwall squirrels fretted over their big bushy tails getting wet.

Morning dawned clear and glorious. Since the rains left the lawns more heavily sodden than the usual morning dews, breakfast was served in Great Hall. Friar Hugh and his helpers did themselves proud with an offering of blackcurrant pancakes with sweet hazelnut cream sauce, hot elderberry tarts, and a magnificent wild plum crumble from a recipe of old Friar Hugo's.

Machus and his fellow foxes mingled with the woodland creatures of the Abbey as best they could, hoping to foster trust and friendliness. The effort was only partly successful, and not just because most of the foxes preferred to keep to themselves. While most of the Redwallers no longer openly distrusted the brush-tailed, black-clad swordsbeasts, it was still strange to find them sharing the same table.

Urthblood's rats, however, made little effort toward diplomacy. After their wet night of sentry duty up on the wall, their mood was hardly friendly, and they wanted only to satisfy their hunger and then get some sleep. They sat apart from the Abbeybeasts, which suited both groups just fine. Even the wonderful food seemed lost on them, doing little to improve their dispositions.

When breakfast ended, the Abbess was relieved to see most of the rats slink off to their assigned dorm rooms. Enough extra beds - well apart from the regular Redwallers' dormitories - had been found to accommodate all of the Northlanders, if they slept in shifts.

"Not exactly a cheerful bunch," Vanessa remarked to Machus. "I'm glad they're turning in. We don't need such sullen and irritable creatures around while we're going about our daily chores."

"Hardly appropriate for the little ones, either," Maura added. "We don't want another repeat of what happened yesterday. Whatever that was."

"Rats are natural-born complainers," Machus said, choosing to ignore Maura's ironic tone. "You'd think after all the hardships they knew up north, they'd be more appreciative of this soft detail here at Redwall, even if they do have to spend an occasional night standing watch in the rain. If you hear any of my foxes complain, it will be about having to stay behind while Lord Urthblood goes off to battle."

"Possible battle," Maura put in.

"If there is fighting, we should be there." Machus threw a glance toward Lady Mina, who sat nearby with Alexander. "We did not stay behind by choice. Not that the defense of Redwall is any slight matter, Abbess. Lord Urthblood would not have ordered us to remain here if he didn't feel it was important. But if the battle takes place elsewhere, My Lord will need every pair of fighting paws he can get. Most of my brigade has been with him for many seasons. It is difficult for us to stand behind the safety of these walls while Lord Urthblood faces this challenge away from this Abbey. But I have never disobeyed his orders before, and I won't start now."

Machus stood, motioning to two of his fellow foxes. "Tolar, Andrus, come with me a moment before you retire. It's time to see how our exile fared during the night."

00000000000

Wolfrum had finally managed to fall asleep propped up against the trunk of a big old rowan. It wasn't a particularly comfortable spot to spend the night, but that didn't stop the rat from sleeping well past sunrise, trying to make up in quantity what his slumbers lacked in quality.

Finally, the day blossomed too fully for even him to ignore. Amid the boisterous morning song of countless birds and the incessant buzz of insect noises, Wolfrum rolled out from between the rowan's root forks and forced himself into a slouching stand. His poor uniform was wet and rumpled and moss-stained, but he was mindful only of the slight hunger tugging at his gut. Grumbling, he dipped into his pack for another of the hard, unappetizing ration biscuits that Urthblood's troops ate when there was no fresh food at paw, and cheerlessly began nibbling at it.

A sparrow named Roofbeam, out foraging from Warbeak Loft, fluttered down a few paces from Wolfrum. She cocked her head a few times, studying the disheveled rat from several different angles, then announced, "Wetrat all muchruffled. Not verra nice."

Wolfrum growled and reached for his sword, thinking how good roasted bird would taste, before realizing he was still without his blade. In disgust, he hurled the half-eaten biscuit at the Sparra. "Ah, gerrout o' 'ere, y' bothersome featherbag!"

Roofbeam caught the biscuit adroitly in her beak, tested it, and dropped it at once. Not only was it rock-hard, but the nibbled edge was moist with rat saliva. Even to a sparrow, accustomed to eating insects and worms, this was too much to stomach.

"You eat, toohard for Sparra. Me gofind good wormfood." With that, Roofbeam flapped away, leaving Wolfrum standing with paws clenched at his sides.

"Right, that's it!" the rat bellowed, starting out of the trees and toward the Abbey. "I'm gettin' me some o' that real Redwall food, if'n I hafta bang their damned gates down wi' me bare claws! They can't keep me out 'ere, while they all chow down on their fine grub ... ain't decent, or right!"

It turned out Wolfrum did not have to knock a single time, or even call out to the walltop sentries. He was still some distance from the south wallgate when he heard the creak of the door hinges and saw the trio of swordfoxes emerge into the pasture outside the wall. Wolfrum slowed his pace; eager as he was to be back inside Redwall and feasting on their delicious fare, he did not relish facing Machus again after the previous afternoon's dressing-down.

The three foxes held a grim silence as the rat approached. Wolfrum glanced from one unsmiling face to the other; Urthblood's swordfoxes knew how to cow a soldierbeast with just a look. "Well," Wolfrum said, "can I come back in?"

Machus ran his cool gaze up and down the hangdog rat, then stepped aside so Wolfrum could enter the open gateway. "All right. But no more trouble, do you understand?"

"Okay. Sure. Uh, do I get my sword back?"

"You'll get it back when I decide you get it back," Machus snapped. "Let's see how you conduct yourself for awhile."

"Yes ... uh, yessir." The glum rat, head down, went into the Abbey. Behind him, the three foxes exchanged knowing glances, then followed.

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The same gentle rain that had fallen over Redwall had also dampened the second night's sleep for the soldiers of Lord Urthblood's main force, now a day and half's march south of the Abbey. Camped along the roadside beneath the spreading canopy of thick forest, which now crowded either side of the path, the sleeping troops were mostly shielded from the raindrops. The dying embers of the cookfires sputtered and sizzled with the few wayward droplets that successfully penetrated the leafy layers of Mossflower, but for the most part the marchers were able to spend their slumbers in relative dryness and comfort.

The rain had let up by sunrise, and breakfast was taken in an eerie borderland where bright sunshine and thick morning mists battled for prominence. The mists got help from the breakfast cookfires, but in the end nature's mighty lantern won out. The clinging white vapors were but a memory as the army assembled in the road to form up into its travel column.

Even though the sun was still too low to send its rays very far into the shady depths of Mossflower, the morning was already quite warm, with the threat of worse to come. For now the column was protected by the shade of the tall trees that lined the east side of the road, but that would change as the day wore on. If the previous day had been perfect for marching, this one promised to make the long walk an arduous chore.

Winokur and Warnokur were taking their places at the head of the column when a large bird swooped down and landed in the road a short distance ahead of the army. Winokur recognized it as the same tunic-clad falcon who'd met with Lord Urthblood on his second day at Redwall. The badger strode forward alone to take the winged warrior's report.

"What do you suppose that's about?" the young otter wondered aloud.

"Prob'ly nothing," answered Captain Saybrook. "Not at all unusual fer Lord Urthblood t' take reports from 'is birds durin' a march. Doesn't want to walk right into any nasty surprises, is all."

The falcon took to the air after only a brief conference. Urthblood returned to the column. "What can the two of you tell me about the bridge that lies to the south?" he asked the two Redwallers.

"Bridge?" Winokur shrugged. "I've never been this far south of the Abbey before. I don't know anything about a bridge in these parts."

"Nor I," his father said. "I know there's a broadstream about another day's march south of 'ere, M'Lord, but it's crossed by a ford. No bridge over it last time I was there."

"Well, there is now," Urthblood stated. "A rather elaborate construction, if Captain Klystra's report is any indication. Ah, well - we shall see it for ourselves by this evening. Our day's march should take us to that river. And this mystery bridge will make our journey much easier than it otherwise would have been. My appreciation goes out to the beasts who wrought it. But for now, we must be on our way."

The column had soon settled into a brisk pace, winding its way south along the road. As it had been on the day before, the roadside was absolutely clear of onlookers; this far south of Redwall, the resident woodland creatures would not have heard of Urthblood yet, and they could only assume that some terrible horde was passing through their midst. Timid gentlebeasts and slinking villains alike cleared away from the path at the approach of the army, none daring to venture close enough to see that otters, shrews, mice, moles and hedgehogs marched side by side with rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets in this assembly.

"Hey, Warny," Saybrook asked Warnokur, "since you know these parts o' Mossflower better'n anybeast here, is there any pond or stream hereabouts where a grunt can cool 'is paws or have a swim? Ol' Mother Nature's turnin' up th' heat on us t'day, an' I don't fancy a long haul like yesterday's without a chance fer a dip somewhere along the ways."

"Hafta wait fer evenin' then, Cap'n," Warnokur replied, "'cos it'll take that long t' reach the river, an' there ain't no pools or trickles 'tween here an' there. Me, I'll be lookin' to take a dive right off th' middle span of this bridge we been hearing 'bout, just as soon as I set my footpaws on it!"


	4. Chapter 30

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty

Wolfrum made straight for Great Hall once he was back inside the Abbey, seeing no sign of any morning meal having been taken out on the lawns. By the time he reached the tables, most Redwallers had departed and Friar Hugh's staff were clearing away the dishes. The hot tarts had grown cold, the pancakes even colder, and only crumbs remained of the wild plum crumble ... none of which stopped Wolfrum from grabbing a plate for himself and filling it until the food was falling off the edges. The kitchen helpers looked at each other and shook their heads at the greedy spectacle the rat made of himself, bolting down the poor leftovers like he hadn't eaten in days and heedlessly flinging crumbs everywhere.

"Hey, mole!" he yelled out at a passing dish-laden beast. "Where's me mates? Y'know, the other rats I stick with?"

"Burr hurr, they'm be oop in thurr durmitrees, sleepin' loik et wurr noighttime. You'm moight's well join 'em, noaw you've 'ad summ brekkist, zurr."

"What? Y'say they're upstairs?" Wolfrum turned away from the retreating mole in disgust. "Cripes! Why carn't some critters learn t' speak proper? Moles down 'ere in Mossflower're as bad as th' ones up northways." He stood and pushed aside his dirty plate on the crumb-strewn table place. "Ah, well, if'n sleep's good 'nuff fer them other muckers, guess it's good 'nuff fer me too. After sleepin' unner a tree all night, I'm ready fer some real rest in a real bed."

He turned toward the stairs leading up to the dormitory levels ... and found himself face to face with Machus.

"Going somewhere, Wolfrum?"

"Er ... yeah, I'm goin' up t' get some honest sleep."

"Funny. I thought honest sleep was only for honest beasts. But you had the night off, remember? At least, I don't recall seeing you up on the walltop last night with the rest of your squad. That means you get day duty ... starting with drill practice out on the lawns, right now. The Abbess and Skipper Montybank have been kind enough to allow us to drill here inside the Abbey so that we don't have to go outside for that. And some of the otters might even help us out with our exercises. A contest, to see if you louts can hold your own against some real fighting beasts."

"But, sir!" Wolfrum protested. "I didn't get two winks all night! I'm in no shape fer drillin'. Why, I 'aven't even got the strength t' swing a sword decent!"

"Oh, that won't be a worry. You won't be getting your sword back today. You can brush up on your quarterstaff skills - there's bound to be a good stout pole lying about somewhere that you can use. If not, you can work on your paw-to-paw combat. You rats have let that slide, as I'm sure those weasels and ferrets out there can show you. Now, get moving, soldier!"

Wolfrum saw that further protest would only land him deeper in trouble with the swordfox captain. Swallowing his bile, he marched forlornly out onto the warm sunny lawns, with Machus following at his heels to make sure the rat didn't stray toward the dorm stairs.

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Down in the archives, Geoff had just finished selecting a new assortment of journals and scrolls for their daily reading of the histories. Cyrus stood waiting, loaded with a stack of records that came up to his chin.

Geoff glanced about him, looking for that one last extra book or parchment that he always tried to squeeze in. Cyrus's whiskers were already beginning to twitch from his short time in the dusty archives, and the young mouse could see that his elder was too preoccupied to notice his plight.

"Um, don't you think we have enough, Geoff sir?" Cyrus broadly hinted. "It'd take us all day just to read what I'm holding ... "

The mouse historian scratched at an ear, his back to his youthful assistant. "There was one more thing ... "

Cyrus did a quick double-sniff, realizing a more direct approach was needed. "I really think we should be going, Geoff sir."

"Mmm ... Oh? What's that?"

"The sneezes are about to begin again," Cyrus said pointedly. "And I haven't got a free paw. I think I'm about to get one of Abbot Bernard's diaries all mucked up."

Geoff turned and saw Cyrus wrinkling and twitching his snout over the top of his load of histories. "Oh! Oh, my word, we can't have that! Start on up, Cyrus ... I'll be right behind you." Grabbing a think folio in one paw and their solitary lantern in the other, the recorder mouse fell into step behind his companion.

"You know," he said as they passed through the tunnels and into Cavern Hole, "I really am surprised that we haven't found anything by now. I mean, at first we were just chasing after some vague prophecy, with no real idea of what we were looking for. But now, after seeing the vast army Lord Urthblood has assembled, with vermin and woodlanders marching side by side, and knowing that there are two Badger Lords who may be about to go to war with each other ... Events such as these have never been seen in all the history of the lands, yet we've read through generations' worth of Abbey records, without any foreshadowing or hint that such things might come to pass in our time. I can't understand it."

"Maybe nobeast ever saw these things coming," Cyrus suggested.

"I find that hard to believe, Cyrus. After all, if Martin the Warrior could foresee the coming of Matthias as Redwall's new Champion, and Abbess Germaine left clues to help us against Slagar and Malkariss ... no, I think there may be something that we simply haven't gotten to yet. There are still many of the records that we have yet to read."

"They didn't predict General Ironbeak, when he tried to take over the Abbey," Cyrus said, recollecting a journal from the time of Abbot Mordalfus that he'd read in the past day or two.

Geoff came to a dead stop halfway up the stairs between Cavern Hole and Great Hall, his sandaled paws planted on the wide middle step of the short flight. A strange light was in his eyes.

"No," he murmured. "No, I don't believe they did. Now, why would that be?"

Cyrus stopped on the top step, weaving slightly under the weight of his burden as he turned to look back at the historian. "I just meant, they couldn't see everything, Mr. Geoff sir."

"No, not everything, of course," agreed Geoff. "But a threat like Ironbeak, that's no small matter." He glanced down at the flagstone step beneath his feet. According to the historical records, this middle step in the flight of seven - the fourth down from Great Hall or up from Cavern Hole - could be slid aside to reveal the secret entrance to the tomb of Martin the Warrior.

Geoff was feeling very peculiar. Cyrus's casual comment about General Ironbeak, uttered just as Geoff was over this spot, had triggered something in his mind. There was something very important here ... but what? Could it be that the spirit of Martin was trying to communicate with him? That had never happened to anybeast currently living at the Abbey, as far as Geoff knew.

"Cyrus, what made you say that? About General Ironbeak?"

"I dunno. I read about it a day or two ago. I just remembered it."

"How do you feel? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No. I feel fine, Mr. Geoff sir. Except that these books are pretty heavy ... "

"What? Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Let's get you and your load outside before your paws break." Geoff shook his head and continued up the steps. "But I think you may have stumbled upon something vital that's right under our noses. I just can't put my paw on it. I think later I'll take a look through some of the histories from the time of Matthias - namely, the ones you were reading, about Ironbeak. I think there may be something there that we're missing."

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Two of Wolfrum's fellow rats, Speeg and Gorsul, found sleep hard to come by, and ended up down on the lawns, watching Machus putting the other troops through their paces. The two rats, having stood watch all night, were officially off duty and on their own time. But that didn't stop Machus from coming over to them with a word of advice.

"Not sleepy, eh?" the swordfox inquired. "Well, you can sit out here in the sun all day if you want, but if I catch either of you napping at your post during your next shift, I'll have your ugly tails as decorations to hang from the battlements. So you might want to think about heading back to your beds."

"Aw, how's a beast s'posed t' sleep with th' sun shinin' so bright?" Speeg whined.

"An' them confounded birds!" complained Gorsul. "With alla their twitterin' an' cheepin', the racket were keepin' me awake!"

"Not t' mention that meal we et," Speeg added. "T'wasn't very consid'rate o' these Redwall lot, if'n you ask me, servin' so much food afore we were goin' t' bed. How'd they expect us to sleep on such a full stomach?"

Machus placed paws on hips. "I don't seem to recall anybeast telling you that you had to eat so much. That was breakfast for the entire Abbey, not a bedtime snack prepared especially for you. Maybe you'll learn to take smaller helpings next time."

The two reclining rodents watched Machus stalk off. "Oh, it's a tough life we've got, mate," Speeg said to Gorsul. "Allers bein' told when to sleep, what t' eat, when t' march 'n' fight 'n' stand watch ... sometimes I don't know 'ow I c'n stand it."

"Know wha'cher mean, Speeg ol' buddy. That fox always did think 'ee was better'n us rats an' weasels. Got that fine ol' sword from Lord Urthblood ... won't see any o' us gettin' any weapon like that, not if'n we live a hunderd seasons."

Speeg gave a snorting laugh. "Yeah, well, now 'ee's got Wolfrum's sword, too. Hee hee, lookit that rat, tryin' t'best Veach at a quarterstaff duel! That ferret's good as any otter when it comes t' whackin' rods."

"Or whackin' rats. Oo, pore ol' Wolf jus' took a smack 'tween 'is ears sumpthin' fierce! If Veach ain't careful, he'll put Wolfrum up in the 'firmary."

"Well, it was pretty stupid of 'im pickin' a fight with that 'hog lady yesterday. Ain't gettin' naught but wot 'ee deserves."

Gorsul cupped his paws to his mouth and called out, "Hey, Wolfy! Don't let that stinky ol' ferret pummel ya like that! Give Veach some lumps fer us!"

Distracted by his comrade's shouting, Wolfrum turned and scowled at the pair ... which gave his ferret opponent Veach an opening to knock Wolfrum's legs out from under him, spilling the rat to the ground.

"Well, mebbe not." Gorsul lay back on the cool grass and closed his eyes. "Y'know, Speegy, now that we're out in th' fresh air 'n' sunshine, I do believe I could fall asleep. That'd make mean ol' Machus happy."

Speeg shrugged and copied his companion. "You said it, chum. Orders is orders, after all."

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Speeg and Gorsul weren't the only ones watching Urthblood's troops being put through their practice paces. Cyril, too, had a ringside seat for the event.

For the older of the two bellringer mouse brothers, looking back on his desire to journey with Jans and Broggen to Salamandastron was like peering back at a dream, something not quite real. Although Cyril was still serious about his warrior's aspirations, the conflict between the two Badger Lords would have to play out without him.

Cyril sat on the grass a short distance away, intent upon the militaristic display taking place on the Abbey lawns. He'd gotten special permission from Montybank to be here, as long as he promised not to stray too close to the drilling Northlanders. Before, when he'd watched all six hundred of them doing mock battle outside the walls, it had been difficult to focus on any one of the scores of duels that were taking place at any given moment. And he'd never gotten closer to the action than the high ramparts. Observing from way up on the walltop was a very different experience than being on the ground right alongside the fighters, as Cyril now discovered.

Most of the swordfoxes who hadn't stood watch the night before were up on the battlements, taking their turn on lookout duty. Elmwood stood in charge of the squirrels there, since Alexander had gone out on a morning patrol with Lady Mina. Most of the rats, too, were sleeping after their sentry rotation. That left mostly weasels, stoats and ferrets to take part in the duelling contest with Monty's otters.

The Redwall otters were too skilled to let their opponents get the best of them, but also too mindful of their place as hosts to thoroughly trounce them ... not that this would have been easy. Urthblood's troops held their own quite well against the otters, and gave few openings for Monty's crew to take advantage of them.

Machus and Monty were constantly wading in and out among the playful combatants, offering laughs and backslaps and encouraging words to their respective underlings. Neither commander wanted his beasts to forget that this was a friendly match, a game for each side to show the other its best in skill and strength, and nobeast was to injure another under any circumstances. These measures helped ease any tension that might have built and led to an unfortunate incident.

The strategy seemed to do the trick. While there was much grunting and few smiles from the jousting weasels, they acted with the discipline of professional soldiers and were gracious whenever the otters scored against them. A few of them even engaged in friendly, if panted, conversations with their otter opponents, remarking on each other's fighting style, offering compliments on strengths and commenting on weaknesses. It didn't even seem to matter that the otters did far more of the latter than the weasels did.

Wolfrum was kept apart from the others. Machus wanted his ferrets, stoats and weasels to have the rat all to themselves ... and he hinted that they did not have to worry about going easy on Wolfrum.

Maura was most careful to keep her young charges far from the duelling creatures on the south lawns. She did not want a repeat of what had happened with Droge the day before. Sister Aurelia helped her. Balla spent her morning down in her beloved cellars, and kept her nephew with her; she and Droge had had their fill of vermin for the season.

Most of the other Redwallers ignored the drilling as best they could while they went about their chores; Redwallers were for the most part peaceful woodlanders, and the majority of them were far less captivated by the warlike exhibition than Cyril was. Vanessa and Arlyn, after looking on for a time to make sure no trouble would start, soon wandered away to tend to other matters and enjoy the day in their own way.

Brother Geoff and Cyrus emerged from the Abbey, and were almost immediately confronted by the mock fighting before them.

"Oh, goodness, this will never do!" Geoff declared, as he and Cyrus stood by the open door. "Listen to all that racket ... why, the clacking of the staffs alone is enough to distract us from getting any reading done." He sniffed at the air, looking up. "Bit too breezy to go up on the wall, our papers will get blown all around. Guess we'll have to go back inside. Maybe we can spread out on the table in Cavern Hole."

"Oh, Mr. Geoff, it's not so bad!" Cyrus protested, disappointed by the prospect of being indoors on such a beautiful summer day. "We can still read out here!"

"Hmm ... maybe on the north lawns, I suppose, away from all this hubbub. And there'll be some nice shade too - this day's shaping up to be rather sweltering." Geoff searched the lawns. "While we're here, I was also thinking of asking Cyril to rejoin us in our archive search. Now that Winokur has left with Lord Urthblood, I think the two of us could use another pair of eyes to help us with our reading."

"But, Cyril didn't want to read the histories anymore," Cyrus said.

"Maybe we can convince him to change his mind," Geoff said with a knowing smile, "now that I have some clearer ideas to follow up on. Care to go ask him? I think he might be more inclined to listen to you."

"Okay," Cyrus agreed, depositing his stack of records on the Abbey steps. "I think I see him over there, by Mr. Machus and the otters. I'll go get him!" The young mouse ran off to fetch his brother.

"Stay well clear of those fighting beasts!" Geoff called out after him, but got no response that Cyrus had heard. The recorder mouse settled himself down on the top step with a sigh. "Ah, well. Young legs do have a will of their own on such summer days as this!"


	5. Chapter 31

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-One

Wolfrum had had enough quarterstaff practice for the time being, Machus decided, and now it was time for a little bare-pawed wrestling. Veach the ferret was replaced by a weasel named Smallert, who was indeed small for a weasel and hence made a perfect practice opponent for the rat. Unfortunately for Wolfrum, Smallert was also a champion wrestler in Urthblood's army, more than a match for even the largest rat. Wolfrum groaned in dismay as he found himself relieved of his staff and facing Smallert, who stood limbering up before launching into his latest victim. Wolfrum was bruised and bumpy all over from the hits he'd taken from Veach, and was sure to get even worse from Smallert.

Spying the two other rats lying on the grass a short distance away, eyes closed and blissfully unaware of his plight, Wolfrum stormed over to them and gave first Speeg and then Gorsul a swift kick in their thighs. "Hey, you ninnies! Get up an' lend yer fellow rat a claw! I'm about t' be slaughtered 'ere!"

Speeg and Gorsul were most indignant about being disturbed in such a manner. "Hey, you shouldn't a' gone an' done that, mucker," Gorsul growled. "I were jus' about asleep."

"Yeah, we're off duty," said Speeg, and they both lay back down, closing their eyes again.

"Why, you lazy, no good - " Wolfrum never got to finish his name-calling. Strong weasel claws grabbed him from behind and flung him to the ground so hard that the breath was knocked out of him. Twisting around to look up at his tormentor, he saw Smallert grinning maliciously down at him.

"Remember, no biting," the weasel taunted, reciting one of Lord Urthblood's cardinal rules of paw-to-paw combat. Wolfrum closed his eyes and braced himself as Smallert reached for him once more.

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Cyrus jogged across the lawns in the glorious late summer sunshine, habit flapping as he ran toward his brother.

Off to his left, a rat and a weasel were fighting tooth and claw. Cyrus didn't pay it much heed. After all, there were creatures fighting all over the south lawns - otters, weasels, stoats, ferrets, even Machus was standing near Cyril, although the swordfox captain seemed more to be supervising the proceedings than participating in them. To Cyrus's young eyes, focused on Cyril, the scuffle between rat and weasel was nothing of any special concern, just another part of the general melee of the drills. He did not pick up on the fact that this particular piece of fighting had nothing friendly or courteous or professional about it. He was not close enough to see that blood was being shed between the two combatants, or to clearly hear their enraged words. All aspects of soldiering were equally strange to the young novice, and he was thinking only of racing over to join Cyril.

And so on Cyrus ran.

00000000000

Smallert threw Wolfrum about this way and that, slamming the rat into the ground harder each time. Wolfrum sought and scrambled for a good defensive hold on the weasel, but Smallert's paw-to-paw expertise was enough to counter every move that Wolfrum attempted.

At last Wolfrum could stand no more. Waiting for Smallert to grab him again, he opened his mouth wide and sank his fangs deep into the weasel's wrist. It was a gross violation of Urthblood's rules, but Wolfrum didn't care; he just wanted to belay Smallert's assault on him before he was knocked senseless.

Smallert screamed and released Wolfrum, clutching at the vicious wound above his paw. Wolfrum spat out the foul taste of weasel blood and dirty fur, then stumbled out of Smallert's enraged grasp back toward the two supine rats. Smallert was mere paces behind, screaming for blood.

Gorsul and Speeg were brought rudely awake. No sooner had they opened their eyes than Wolfrum was crouching down between them, wrenching Gorsul's sword free from its scabbard. "Hey, that's my blade!" the drowsy rat complained.

Not waiting to gauge the situation, Wolfrum stood, spun and swung the sword blindly in his pursuer's direction. Smallert screamed anew as his left ear was cleanly severed at the scalp. For a moment the weasel just stood there, staring at the slice-off extremity which had fallen into his paws, while Wolfrum pointed the sword unsteadily at him.

Smallert's face went rigid with fury. "You are a dead rat!" he snarled, and flung his bloody ear into Wolfrum's face. In the instant that it took Wolfrum to recover from this most unexpected move, Smallert dodged past the weaving swordpoint and grappled with the rat, using his superior fighting skills to knock Wolfrum to the ground and wrest the sword from his grasp. The weasel started swinging the weapon as soon as he got a sure grip on the hilt.

Wolfrum fell between Speeg and Gorsul, and the three rats were quickly in a confused tangle, struggling against each other to get clear of the furious weasel. As Smallert, less experienced with swordplay than many of Urthblood's troops, lashed out wildly for vengeance, Wolfrum grabbed Speeg and thrust his fellow rat forward to take the blow. The unfortunate bystander rat never knew what hit him, as the errant blade sliced halfway through Speeg's neck, and he fell back onto the grass, instantly slain.

Smallert was too consumed by his insane wrath to be affected by his killing of an innocent rat. Wolfrum was on his feet now, fleeing across the lawns to escape the bloodthirsty weasel. Smallert had eyes only for his quarry, and immediately set off in pursuit.

Wolfrum's legs were shorter than Smallert's, and he still smarted from all the physical punishment he'd taken that morning. There was no way he could hold his lead for very long; already he could feel the wind from Smallert's sword swings ruffling the back of his tunic and grazing his tail. If he stopped he would be slaughtered, if he kept running he would be caught and killed anyway. In his panic, he cast about for something, anything, that he could grab to hold up between himself and Smallert.

The first thing that came to paw was Cyrus.

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The young novice mouse sprinted over the south lawn, revelling in the joy of the moment and utterly oblivious to the fate about to overtake him. Cyrus was a mere stone's throw from Cyril when he felt powerful claws grab him at his sides and lift him off the ground. His world spun halfway around in a dizzying blur, and then Cyrus found himself facing a weasel - a small weasel, to be sure, but still far larger than any mouse - swinging a sword straight at him. There was no time to cry out or even feel the terror of the situation. Before he knew what was happening, the sword had slashed him across the belly just above his waist cord, rending the fabric of his habit and slicing a long gash across his stomach.

The horror of what he'd done penetrated through to Smallert as he raised the sword for another swing. Staring mortified at the mouse child suspended limply in Wolfrum's claws, the weasel's jaw went slack and the weapon slipped from his grasp. "Oh, no," he muttered.

The pain hit Cyrus all at once, a sharp pain that burned like fire across his middle and deep into him. Still he did not cry or scream, for such agony must be unreal. His eyes glazed over, and the world of the sunlit Abbey grounds and blue summer sky receded far away from him.

Other beasts were screaming. Cyril, realizing what he'd just seen happen to his brother, ran wailing toward the scene. Machus was at his side, paw on the hilt of his sword.

"Wolfrum, put that mouse down!"

Wolfrum still had Cyrus upraised in his claws as he backed away from Smallert, concerned only for his own safety. "Sir, he's tryin' t' slay me!"

"I'll slay you myself if you don't put down that youngster at once! And do it gently!"

Wolfrum hesitated in uncertainty, then laid Cyrus on the grass and turned to run. He hadn't gotten very far when he was clubbed to the ground by two foxes who'd raced down from the walltop at the first sign of trouble.

Smallert's throat had gone dry as he stood staring at Cyrus lying still upon the lawn. Blood soaking through the slashed habit was turning the green fabric dark; the sight made the weasel forget his own injuries. "S-sir, I'm sorry. I didn't mean ... "

"Shut up!" Machus knelt beside Cyrus. Cyril was already there, tears coursing down his cheeks as he clutched his younger brother's paw in his own, squeezing it, trying to will some of his own life and energy into his stricken sibling. Cyrus was in shock, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky, his paw as limp as any deadbeast's.

"Oh, Cyrus, don't die! Please don't die!"

Geoff hastened across the lawn, having seen the incident from a different angle. "Oh, no!" he wailed. "That wicked beast has slain Cyrus!"

Smallert sank to his knees, burying his face in his paws.

Machus tore the ripped habit wide over Cyrus's stomach, revealing the wound. It was a horrible gash, wide and deep, gushing blood. Wasting no time, the fox began pulling strips of bandages from an inner pocket of his black tunic, working like a madbeast. When he'd produced several, he reached into Cyrus with his paws, feeling around through all the blood and gore until he was up to his wrists in it, much to the startlement of the Redwallers.

Geoff started forward. "What are you doing? Get your paws out of there!"

Veach the ferret laid a restraining claw on Geoff's shoulder. "Hold up, Mr. Mouse, sir. Nobeast knows more 'bout healin' than Cap'n Machus 'ere, Let 'im work, it's th' lad's only chance."

Geoff swallowed and forced himself to stand back while Machus tended to Cyrus.

While Cyril continued to hold his brother's listless paw, Machus probed around inside the wound. His face was a picture of concentration, since he could not see but ony feel his way around the damaged body. After what seemed an eternity, Machus withdrew one paw, thick with the blood of the young mouse, and began snatching up the bandage strips and stuffing them down into the yawning gash.

"The intestines are cut in several places," he said as he worked. "This packing will slow the bleeding from inside, but we must get this young one up to the Infirmary at once."

Cyril choked, "Can you save him, sir?"

"It will be a near thing, but I've seen beasts survive injuries like this before, with the right treatment." Machus withdrew both paws, having used up all his bandages. "Quickly now! Somebeast take his shoulders, and I'll get his feet. Every moment is crucial!"

"Here, I got 'im," Montybank volunteered, stepping around to Cyrus's head and lifting the novice mouse from under the shoulders while Machus took him by the footpaws. "Reckon it's safe t' move 'im this way?"

"No time to get a stretcher, even if there's one ready for use," the fox answered. "We must get him to a sickbed at once!"

They were already shuffling toward the Abbey. One of the other swordfoxes had come over to grab Smallert. "Sir, what do we do about these two misfits?"

"Keep 'em from causing any more trouble," Machus snapped. "I'll deal with them later ... no time now!"

Cyril stayed at his brother's side while Cyrus was bustled across the lawn by Machus and Monty; all throughout this ordeal he had yet to relinquish his grasp on his sibling's paw. Geoff, jogging alongside the entourage, glanced at Cyril with a frown of uncertain worry. "Cyril, perhaps you should stay out here ... "

"No!" Cyril cried. "I'm not leaving Cyrus!"

"It's all right, let him come along," Machus said to Geoff. "I might need him up there."


	6. Chapter 32

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Two

The color drained from Sister Aurelia's face when she saw Cyrus being carried into the Infirmary. By this time word of what had happened was spreading through the Abbey, and Vanessa - who had served as Infirmary keeper herself before becoming Abbess - was at Aurelia's side as Cyrus was laid atop a made bed.

On the way inside, Machus had called for his medical satchel, and one of his fellow foxes raced in with it now. While Machus washed his bloodied paws clean in a bowl of soapy water, he explained the extent of the injuries to Sister Aurelia and Vanessa. The two healer mice made a cursory examination of Cyrus for themselves as the swordfox chieftain joined them, drying his paws on a fresh white towel. What they saw made Aurelia blanch further, and even Vanessa sucked in her breath at the graveness of the wound.

They stood and watched as Machus hurriedly spread the contents of his medical kit on the adjacent bed. It was unlike any healer's bag that Vanessa or Aurelia had ever heard of; instead of dried herb leaves and small packets of powder, the fox's satchel unfolded in elaborate layers, revealing an array of what could only be described as tiny tools, finer than any tinker's instruments. There were a few thin packets, but most of the medicines were stored in scores of small stoppered bottles, vials and flasks, each neatly labeled as to its contents. There were other devices and materials as well whose purpose the Redwallers could not even begin to guess.

Machus ordered a sheet to be stripped from one of the other beds and held up to reflect light from the window back down onto his patient. When he was satisfied with the arrangement , he looked across at Cyril. The older brother had still not released his sibling's paw, all during the hasty trip through Great Hall and up the stairs to the Infirmary.

"Son, you'll have to leave us now," Machus said softly but firmly. "You can't be here while I operate. You can stay just outside in the corridor, if you please would. I may need your help later, but for now I must work alone."

"Please save him," Cyril implored in a dry voice.

"I'll do everything I can, I promise."

Cyril let go of Cyrus's paw, which fell to the bedcovers and lay still. Cyril backed away several reluctant steps, then forced himself to turn and leave the room.

Machus went to work. Selecting a tiny needle from his kit, he threaded it with a length a plant fiber so fine that it was almost invisible. One by one, he removed his improvised bandages from inside Cyrus's abdomen, stopping to sew up each bit of internal damage before moving on to the next area. He also had Sister Aurelia sprinkle a mist of medicine from one of his ampules across each stitched section.

Aurelia and Vanessa were both horrified and fascinated by the procedure. After the last internal sutures were completed and Machus had no more immediate need of extra paws, the two mice withdrew to the opposite side of the Infirmary, where Abbot Arlyn, Brother Geoff, Monty and several others waited anxiously. They were given a sketchy outline of what Machus was doing.

"Could this save Cyrus?" Geoff asked.

Vanessa shook her head. "When I first saw how grievously Cyrus was injured, I thought he must surely die. I could not have saved him, even with the full extent of my skill and knowledge, and Aurelia's help. The methods this fox is using are utterly strange to me. It is not any kind of medicine or healing that is within my experience."

"So, it could work?" Geoff pressed, desperate hope in his eyes.

Sister Aurelia shrugged. "I am not as knowledgeable in the healing arts as our Abbess, but I deem it will take a miracle to keep young Cyrus with us past this day."

Arlyn folded his paws into his habit sleeves. "Miracles are not unknown here at Redwall," he declared with quiet strength. "If another is what we need now, let us pray for it, and hope that our prayers are answered."

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After he'd finished sealing and disinfecting the internal wounds, Machus stitched the gash closed with his needle and fiber thread. Quickly washing the blood from his paws once more, he beckoned Sister Aurelia to help him swab clean the fur around the main wound, then apply a healing poultice over it and wrap the whole area with clean bandages. Cyrus was stripped of his torn and blood-stained habit, and gently lifted over to a clean bed. The young mouse was limp and pallid, and did not look like a beast who was likely to survive this ordeal.

Machus cames over to Vanessa and the others. "The lad's injuries are all closed, inside and out," the fox said gravely, "but I fear he has lost too much blood."

"That was my concern too," Vanessa nodded, looking quite drawn herself. "Whatever magic Machus has wrought in tending the wounds themselves, his efforts will all amount to naught if Cyrus does not have enough blood left in him to keep him alive."

"I am sure you all did everything that you could," Arlyn sighed, "and we are grateful, especially to you, Machus ... "

The fox held up his paw to stop the old Abbot. "There is one thing left to do yet, and not much time. Where are Cyrus's parents?"

"Cyril and Cyrus were left with us when they were just infants," Vanessa explained. "Their parents were poor fieldmice from the Western Plains, who wanted their sons to be raised as Redwallers. I cannot even say whether they still live, it has been so many - "

Machus interrupted. "So young Cyril, the one waiting out in the corridor - he is the wounded child's only blood relation at Redwall?"

"Yes. What do you have in mind?"

"There is a technique I have used with some success, but it is not without risk. However, I feel we have no choice but to try it. Would you please have Cyril come in here?"

Vanessa hesitated, concerned about Cyril seeing his brother in such a dire state, then nodded. Sister Aurelia went out to the hallway, where Maura was doing what she could to comfort and console Cyril. The young mouse followed the healer back into the Infirmary, his gaze immediately straying to his bedridden sibling as he was led over to Machus and Vanessa. He stared imploringly up at the fox. "Cyrus ... will he ... ?"

"He is still in great danger," Machus said to Cyril. "As things stand now, I do not think he will make it. But there is one last hope ... and only you can help me."

"Tell me what to do!" Cyril declared without hesitation.

"I want to take some of your blood and put it into your brother. He doesn't have enough of his own left to keep him alive much longer."

Sister Aurelia's eyebrows shot up, and she looked to the Abbess. "Do you know of this procedure, Vanessa?"

Vanessa was at a loss. "This is beyond me, Aurelia." She turned back to Machus. "You said there is risk in this. Tell us."

"The exchange of blood can only be safely done between family members," Machus explained. "Even then, it is not absolutely certain to succeed. Sometimes the blood does not match up and blend properly, even between siblings, or parent and child."

"What if Cyril and Cyrus are not a proper match, and you put some of Cyril's blood into Cyrus anyway?"

"Most likely, it will kill Cyrus." Machus spoke plainly.

"Oh." Vanessa mulled this over. "But, if we don't try this ... "

"Then he will almost certainly die," Machus finished for her.

"What about the danger to Cyril?"

"For the beast yielding the blood, there is hardly any risk. The flow will only be in one direction, so there is very little chance that any of Cyrus's blood will get into Cyril. The trickiest part will be making sure I do not draw too much from Cyril and leave him overly weak. But he is nearly of adult size, and has the vigor of youth on his side. It should not be any great problem."

"I cannot say I fully understand how you propose to do this." Vanessa gnawed her lip in uncertainty. "And as far as giving my permission ... "

"Mother Abbess, you must!" Cyril cried out. "If we don't, Cyrus will die! I want to do it!"

Machus looked sternly at the Abbess. "If it to be done, it must be done now. Immediately, this very moment. Every second could make a difference between success and failure."

Finally, Vanessa gave a single emphatic nod. "Do it. Sister Aurelia will give you whatever help she can. Cyril, do whatever Machus tells you to. I hope this proves what Cyril needs to pull through. The hearts and will of Redwall shall be with all of you."

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Cyril was laid on the bed next to his brother's, atop several layers of blankets so that he was elevated slightly about Cyrus. From his kit Machus produced a length of thin flexible tubing, made of some strange material none of the Redwallers could identify. To each end of the tubing he affixed a fine hollow steel needle. As he'd done previously with the smaller needle he'd used to sew up the wound, Machus sterilized these hollow needles with pure grain alcohol, a few drops of which he also poured through the tube to sanitize its inner lining.

Having thus made ready for the transfusion, Machus lastly took a small spring clamp and pinched closed a spot about halfway along the snake of tubing. The fox bent down to Cyril, closely examining the inside of the young mouse's elbow.

"I must find a strong, clear artery, carrying good blood," Machus explained, for the benefit of both Cyril and the two healer mice, who hovered near, observing. "These needles are hollow, and will allow me to drain blood from Cyril, through this tube, and into Cyrus. Ah, this looks like a good one." Parting Cyril's fur, Machus deftly slipped the needle slantways into the flesh below the elbow. Cyril winced, but forced himself not to cry out or moan. The tube stiffened somewhat as it was quickly filled up to the clamped point. Machus looked on with approval. "So far, so good," he murmured.

Sister Aurelia could not help but comment, "I'd assumed you would put Cyril's blood into some sort of vessel, and from there into Cyrus. But it looks to me as if you're going to transfer it directly from Cyril into Cyrus, through that tube."

"Yes, I am," Machus said, now examining Cyrus for an appropriate place to insert the needle on the other end of the tube. "It can be done both ways, but we must do a direct transfer since time is of the essence."

"What's to stop Cyrus's blood from draining into the tube instead?"

"A number of things. First of all, Cyrus has lost a lot of blood, so his body will more readily accept new blood from outside. Secondly, his heart is beating very weakly now, so it is no match for Cyril's. We also have Cyril raised slightly higher, which will help as well. But the key is in the choice of veins. I've tapped into Cyril at a place where the blood pumps strongly from the heart. With Cyrus I will do exactly the reverse, feeding the line into a vessel running to the heart, where the pressure is less. That way, the blood will be sure to flow in only the direction we want - from Cyril into Cyrus."

Finding the exact point on Cyrus where he wanted to insert the second needle, Machus rested the tip lightly against the flesh there and reached to release the spring clamp. "It is absolutely vital that no air be allowed into the bloodstream. That would kill Cyrus more certainly than a bad blood match would." Removing the clamp from the tube to let Cyril's blood flow the rest of the way through, Machus waited for the first fine jet of red fluid to spurt from the second needle; then he skillfully jabbed it into Cyrus's vein, where the life-giving plasma from Cyril would do its work.

Sister Aurelia furrowed her brow, still dubious about the whole thing. "How will we know not to take too much blood from Cyril?"

"That's where a little educated guesswork comes into play." Machus turned to Cyril. "You must tell us at once if you begin to feel weak or dizzy, or just plain tired. Don't try to be a hero; you're that already. We have one gravely ill mouse on our paws. We don't need another."

Cyril gave in to the fox's commanding tone, dispelling any notion he might have entertained about disobeying. "I understand, sir."

"Good lad. I should be able to judge for myself the right time to remove the needles, but I've never attempted this with two so young. Abbess, will you please send for a tray of sweets from the kitchen? Fruit cordial, candied nuts, glazed biscuits, cake - anything that has a lot of sweetness to it. Cyril will need such fare when we are done. It helps the body recover and make new blood to replace what has been lost ... and I suspect Cyril will not want to leave his brother to go downstairs for this."

"I'll see to it at once. Monty, could you please tend to that?"

"Right away, Nessa." The otter Skipper nodded and ducked out of the Infirmary.

By the time Monty returned from the kitchens with a laden tray, Machus had withdrawn the needles from both young brothers, estimating that enough blood had been transferred to Cyrus to do the job, if the mouse was to be saved at all. The needle holes were quickly bandaged, then the younger brother was covered with a light blanket.

Cyril sat up on his bed, rolling his habit sleeve down over his smarting elbow. He did feel a bit lightheaded, but not as much as he'd expected after giving Cyrus enough blood to make a difference. He looked across at his brother, but Cyrus still appeared as deathly as before. "Do you think it worked, Machus sir?"

"Too soon to tell. But we've done everything now that could be done, and you must look after yourself. Here, take some of this food."

"Oh, I couldn't. I'm much too nervous."

"I'd strongly advise you to eat something, even if you have to force yourself. A tumbler of fruit juice, if nothing else."

At this friendly urging, Cyril did help himself to a cup of strawberry fizz and a honey-frosted cherry turnover. As he nibbled and sipped halfheartedly, not really tasting the sweet fare, Machus prepared two small vials, each fitted with another of his hollow needles at one end and a sort of plunger at the other. Holding them up to Aurelia and Vanessa, he said, "This medicine will help the new blood blend with the old more easily, and this medicine will help fight off infections. It's the last of what I can do - after this, it's up to fate." That said, he stuck the needle of first one vial then the other into Cyrus's shoulder, forcing the fluids through the needles and into Cyrus by pushing down on the plungers.

Machus hastily and efficiently packed up his medical kit, leaving a few of the bloody devices aside to be properly washed and sterilized later. "If you will please excuse me, Abbess, there's something else to which I must attend now."

"I think I know what you are referring to. We are very grateful for what you have done here, Machus. If Cyrus pulls through, we will owe you a tremendous debt."

Machus was unsmiling. "This should not have happened. This is my fault, and I take responsibility for it. My soldiers behaved like barbarians, but they are my soldiers nevertheless, and their actions are a reflection upon me. I cannot undo what has been done, but I can prevent such a thing from ever happening again." He turned and strode grimly from the Infirmary.


	7. Chapter 33

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Three

"Speeg is dead."

Just over a score of rats, stoats, weasels and ferrets stood assembled before Machus on the Abbey lawns, not far from the spot where Cyrus had been wounded. While Machus had labored to save the mousechild, Speeg's body had been promptly carried outside the wall by his foxes for a proper warrior's burial in the woods beyond the meadow.

All but one of the soldiers stood stiffly at attention, ranked in a neat double row, eyes staring straight ahead. Wolfrum was held apart from the rest. Literally held, by two of the swordfoxes who pinned the rat's claws tightly behind his back.

Machus paced back and forth before his line of vermin troops, his ice-cold gaze traveling from one fear-rigid face to another.

"Speeg is dead, and this is the sword that slew him." Machus held up the old, dull, crude Northlands blade. "Now, which beast here does this belong to?"

Gorsul the rat tried to speak up, but only an unintelligible croak emerged from his throat.

Machus snapped his head around at the pathetic sound, closing in on the trembling rat with four quick strides, a hunter zooming in for the kill. He stopped with his face a mere paw's width from Gorsul's.

"What was that, Gorsul? Did you say something?"

"I, er ... " Gorsul's voice was dry as sandpaper. "It's mine, sir. But I didn't kill nobeast!"

"No, I don't suppose you did. But you know Lord Urthblood's rules ... and the penalty for any soldier who is careless enough to let his weapon be taken from him, and used for ill."

Gorsul swallowed the lump in his throat, his face deathlike.

"Luckily for you, Lord Urthblood was not here to witness your irresponsible conduct. And I have more greivous behavior that I must address."

Gorsul had more sense than to protest that he'd been lying half asleep when Wolfrum had stolen his sword. He didn't want to draw down any more of the swordfox's wrath upon him.

Machus stepped two paces down the line to stand before the weasel Smallert. Machus shoved his face into that of his new target. "You slew Speeg, didn't you?"

The missing ear gave Smallert's head a lopsided appearance. He met the fox's gaze with tears in his eyes. "Yes, sir," he rasped.

"Now, what would make you kill one of your fellow soldiers?" Machus held the sword blade up close to the weasel's face.

"I ... it was an accident."

"An accident!" Machus barked. "Oh, that's not so bad then ... at least it wasn't cold-blooded murder. Anybeast can have an accident. Perfectly understandable. I'll go ask Speeg if he'll forgive you ... no, wait, I can't. He's dead."

Smallert burst out, "Don't do this to me, sir! I feel bad enough about that liddle mouse ... jus' kill me, and be done with it!"

"Mouse? I wasn't talking about any mouse. I was talking about Speeg, who's dead now, thanks to you and no other. Before you receive your punishment, I want to be sure you understand just what it is you've done."

"I'm sorry 'bout Speeg, sir, an' I know killin' him's enuff to get me death. But it's that mouse I ... oh, why'd he hafta be there, in our way? I'd be happy t' give you my life, twice over, if it would undo what I done!"

"Unfortunately, executing you won't begin to repair the damage this incident has done here at Redwall." Machus stood back from Smallert, addressing all the vermin. "These good creatures have invited us into their wonderful Abbey, given us food and clean beds to sleep in, not to mention the courtesy of their hospitality ... and how do we repay them? By fighting amongst ourselves like savage idiots, slaying one of our own out in clear view of these peaceful folk, and then nearly taking the life of one of their children!" He stared sharply at Smallert. "Yes, nearly ... The young one still lives, for now. Whether he will survive his grave injuries is uncertain. With luck, he will. But even if he does, what could we possibly do that would erase the memory of this bloody day from the hearts and minds of this fair place and the goodbeasts who live here?"

Off to the side, Wolfrum could sense that Machus was working himself up, and the rat fidgeted nervously in the grip of his captors, knowing he must be the fox captain's ultimate target.

Machus stalked over to the pinioned rodent. "And just what part did you play in this, Wolfrum? Remind me."

"I was jus' defendin' meself, sir!" the rat pleaded. "Smallert, 'ee swore t' kill me dead, right in front o' everybeast! Jus' ask Gorsul! Why, lookit the back o' me uniform, slashed where 'ee was thrashin' at me with that sword!"

"What, you mean this sword?" Machus held the ugly, old blade up to Wolfrum's face. "But this is Gorsul's weapon. How, pray tell, did it come to be in Smallert's claw?"

Wolfrum wasn't sure how much of the fight Machus had actually seen. "Why, that nasty weasel just grabbed Gorsul's sword right away from 'im, an' started layin' about the place, killin' poor Speeg, chasin' after me - "

"Oh, and I suppose he sliced off his own ear?"

Wolfrum stammered to an awkward silence, having trapped himself in an open lie.

"And what about that deep wound on his paw? Looks like a bite mark to me. A bite mark that, unless I miss my guess, would match up pretty close to your own jaw. You know the rules against biting, Wolfrum. Or am I to believe Smallert put those fang marks into himself? Would that have been before or after he cut off his ear?"

"But ... but he was tryin' to kill me! Slammin' me into th' ground 'til I thought I was gonna pass out, or have me ribs cracked. I tell yer, that damned weasel's got no place in a proper army o' fightin' beasts, beatin' on a fellow soldier like that!"

"I told him to do that," Machus said coolly, "as punishment for your behavior yesterday. You'd have done better if you had let yourself get knocked out."

The fear in Wolfrum's face began to give way to indignant anger. "Then it's your fault that Speeg's dead, an' that mouse got split open," he spat at the fox.

For the most fleeting instant, Machus's expression became a snarl of terrible fury. Quick as a lightning flash, his features relaxed back into the calm mask of a professional officer ... but not before he'd turned down the sword and driven its point through Wolfrum's unprotected footpaw.

Wolfrum howled in pain. Machus slapped him hard across the face to silence him.

"Shall we try that again? You bit Smallert - a violation of our fighting rules. You took Gorsul's sword and used it to inflict injury upon a fellow soldier - two more violations. And then there is the matter of the mouse child. What have you to say to that?"

"You damned fox! Now I'll never walk right again!"

"Oh, walking is the least of your worries right now."

"Smallert's the one who cut that mouse open! You can't blame that on me!"

"Watch me. Smallert was aiming right at you. As inexcusable as his behavior was, yours was far worse. That young mouse had no part in this idiotic mess. And he never would have come to any harm if you hadn't grabbed him and thrust him into the path of that swinging sword. And don't dare try to deny that's what happened - I was only a few paces away!"

"I ... I didn't know what I was doin'! I ne'er meant t' hurt the mouse - I was in fear o' me life! I panicked!"

"You didn't know what you were doing? Then you're too much of a hazard to be any part of this army. At least Smallert has the decency to take responsibility for his part in all this, and to show remorse for the harm he has done. You have shown me neither."

Wolfrum gritted his teeth against his pain and rage and fear. "You gonna kill me?" he glared at Machus.

"What do you think?" Machus stepped back to address the entire line. "Wolfrum says it's my fault that these terrible things happened today. Perhaps he is right. Unlike him, I will accept responsibility in this matter ... and I will take action, as your commander, to make sure no such thing happens again. From this moment on all rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets are prohibited from this Abbey and its grounds. You will all sleep outside the walls. You will all eat outside the walls. You will drill outside the walls, and you will still stand watches. Anybeast here who has a problem with that can take it up with Wolfrum, because he'll be out there with you. Andrus, Blevin, get these sorry excuses for soldiers out of my sight before I change my mind and gut them for throw rugs!"

"Uh, even Wolfrum, sir?" Andrus the fox asked.

"Yes, but not Smallert - that weasel stays here. All the others, outside the wall, now!"

While Smallert stood, head hung in shame and certain that he'd been singled out for execution, the rest were led by several of the foxes through the south wallgate, which was locked behind them once they were all outside. Wolfrum had received a reprieve ... for the moment.

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Tolar, a senior fox of the brigade, came over to Machus after the vermin were gone. "Are you sure about this, sir? I was certain you'd give Wolfrum the harshest penalty."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Machus answered, voice low, "there are Redwallers watching us now, from the walltop and the windows. These good folk have witnessed enough bloodshed within this haven of theirs; I'm not about to spill any more. Not here, not now. But I want this night to be Wolfrum's last."

"You want me to take care of it?" Tolar asked.

Machus gave a nod. "Tonight, in the first hour after midnight, when most of the Abbeybeasts are asleep. Wolfrum's fellow outcasts very well might have finished him off before then, but if not ... "

"I understand, sir. You aren't afraid he'll try to make a run for it?"

"Not on that footpaw I left him with. Besides, he knows what Lord Urthblood does to troops who desert. His life wouldn't be worth anything even if he could escape. He may be lulled by the appearance that I'm done with him for now, and be satisfied to sit tight and nurse his wound. That's what I'm counting on."

Tolar inclined his head toward Smallert. "And what about him?"

"I'll see to that right now." Machus strode over to the trembling weasel, paw ominously upon his sword hilt. "Smallert, come with me."

Head down, Smallert followed Machus toward the Abbey, obediently and without question.

00000000000

Hanchett heard voices outside his cell.

That in itself was nothing unusual. He was being guarded night and day, by both Redwallers and Urthblood's foxes and shrews. Meals were delivered to him frequently; clearly the Abbeyfolk were trying to bestow upon him whatever hospitality they could, in spite of his being held here against his will. And when the food came, there were always the typical sounds of conversation and pawsteps and shuffling and other telltale noise. Hanchett was a trained patrol hare, and knew how to make note of the most minute details.

But something was different this time. The sounds of movement, the voices ...

The Salamandastron hare paused in his stretching exercises, which he'd been doing regularly during his captivity to keep himself limber. The beasts outside the cell had fallen into an atypical quiet, and a new voice could be heard issuing instructions. When the door lock clicked, Hanchett popped up from his splayed workout position against the wall and stood in the middle of the cell to face the door.

It opened wider than usual, two creatures filling the threshold - a weasel, and the fox that Hanchett recognized as the captain of the fox brigade. They were backed by a crescent of shrews with their swords drawn.

"I've brought this for you," the fox said to Hanchett, shoving the other beast into the cell. "This weasel used a stolen sword to inflict a dire wound upon a mousechild of this Abbey. That child lies up in the Infirmary now, hovering between life and death."

Hanchett studied the pair quizically. "Well, that's a sad wrinkle, not that I jolly well couldn't have predicted it. Can't have such types mixin' with decent folk an' not expect such things - downright silly to even try, if you ask me. But wot's this got to do with me? I'm a bally prisoner here."

"You'll find it has quite a bit to do with you. How would such a beast be treated according to the rules of Salamandastron?"

"Why, we'd slay the rotter before he had the chance to cause such mischief, just like we would with all filthy vermin ... and foxes."

"That's what I thought." The fox prodded the weasel further into the cell. "Say hello to your new roommate. His name is Smallert. Keep in mind this terrible thing he has done. He will share this space with you for as long as you decide to let him live. If you should decide to end his life, no reprisal will be made against you. This beast has no more value to me. Do with him as you will."

"Wot, you want me to kill him for you?"

The fox captain backed out of the doorway. "By the way, he also slew one of my rats, for what it's worth."

And then the door slammed shut again, the lockbolt latching noisily back into place.

Hanchett blinked against the renewed dimness of the sealed chamber. The tenseness of battle-readiness had not left his muscles; if this weasel tried anything in these close quarters, Hanchett wanted to be able to clobber him to the floor.

But Smallert just stood there, staring fearfully at the hare.

"Hey, did you really do what that bally brushtail said you did?"

"Yes." The reply was a whimper.

"Oh ho. Then I really ought to snap your blinkin' weasely neck, wot? Wot'd you do if I tried?"

"You can if y' want. I won't try to defend m'self."

Hanchett did not expect such a reply. Was this vermin trying to put him off guard with this act?

"Hey, that's a nice belt you're wearing, chap. Sorry if I can't take you at your word, it's my training, don'tcha know ... " With that, Hanchett leapt high off the floor, aiming a brutal two-footed kick at the head of his new companion. Smallert smashed into the stone wall and slid to the floor, stunned senseless.

Hanchett hastily bent down and unbuckled Smallert's belt, yanked it off from around the weasel's waist and used it to bind Smallert's paws tightly behind his back.

"You prob'ly deserve death, but I won't kill a beast in cold blood, an' I sure as shivers ain't no fox's hatchet hare! Nerve o' that one, expectin' me to do his bally dirty work! Besides, if you really did slay a rat, you can't be all bad."

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A hush lay over Redwall all that afternoon. Even the Matthias and Methuselah bells held their silence, respectful of their young ringer who lay so gravely injured in the Infirmary. Maura spent the time with the Abbey children , who were unusually subdued. The smallest infant could sense that something awful had happened, and knew not to fidget or make a fuss. Maura comforted them with her steady strength, but they were equally a comfort to the badger matriarch, giving her a sense of purpose and helping to keep her mind off Cyrus.

Elsewhere in the Abbey, everyday chores were forgotten and left undone as every Redwaller stood by in quiet apprehension, waiting to find out whether a young life would be taken from them on this day. Down in the kitchens, Friar Hugh let the ovens go cold, since nobeast could think much about food at a time like this. It was as if the entire Abbey was holding its breath in dread and hope, waiting to see what would happen.

If there had been room enough in the Infirmary for every Abbey resident to crowd in around Cyrus's bed, they would surely have done so. As it was, there were still a healthy number of beasts keeping vigil at the young mouse's side.

Cyril was there, of course, focused upon his brother's every shallow breath. Their best molefriend Billus sat at Cyril's right paw, frequently wiping unshed tears from his tiny eyes with a trembling digging claw. Neither youngster had ever seen any creature wounded in so dire a manner; that their first exposure to such violence involved one corner of their friendship triangle made it all the harder. Cyril, the earnest would-be warrior, did not shy away when Billus put a consoling claw around his shoulders, and Cyril returned the mole's heartfelt embrace with one of his own.

Sister Aurelia and Abbess Vanessa hovered over Cyrus, helpless to do anything but monitor his precarious condition along with the others. As Redwall's twin healers it would have been unthinkable for either of them to leave their patient's side for even a moment. But they knew that Cyrus was really Machus's patient. If not for the swordfox's advanced surgical techniques, Cyrus would not have survived even this long.

Other Abbey leaders drifted in and out during the course of the afternoon. Foremole knew how close Billus was to Cyrus, and spent some time with him and Cyril. Montybank, after seeing Machus expel the vermin from the Abbey, came back up to pay his support and best wishes. Old Arlyn stayed as long as he could, but it was clear that the incident had badly shaken him, and he soon returned to his gatehouse cottage for a fitful nap. Nothing like this had ever happened during his long seasons as Abbot.

Machus returned toward late afternoon to check on the situation. The fox seemed encouraged that Cyrus was still alive, but after a hasty examination, he would only say, "It's too soon to tell." Turning to Cyril, Machus asked, "How are you feeling, son?"

"Okay, I guess. Sister Aurelia and the Mother Abbess made me eat and drink some more, like you wanted."

"Good lad." Machus gently patted Cyril on the head. "I've seen beasts wounded on the field of battle who spilled less blood than you gave for your brother today. You don't have to swing a sword or battle an enemy to show bravery. If Cyrus recovers, it will be as much thanks to your sacrifice as to my efforts."

Cyril managed half a smile. "Thank you, sir."

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Friar Hugh put out some cheese and leftover bread in Great Hall, but most of the Redwallers ate little if anything, too upset by the day's events to have much appetite.

The Mossflower Patrol led by Alex and Lady Mina returned around suppertime. When the two squirrels learned what had happened, they went striaght up to the Infirmary to sit by Cyrus with the others. Mina and Machus traded a grim, knowing glance; the two Northlanders understood what must be done with the beasts responsible for this.

As evening approached and the shadows in the Infirmary began to deepen, Sister Aurelia got up to light some lamps so that Cyrus could be monitored after darkness fell. The mood in the room was gloomy enough as it was, and the encroaching dimness of coming night was best warded off to keep everybeast's spirit hopeful.

Cyril's eyes seldom strayed from Cyrus. A flicker of movement made him sit up suddenly. "Sister Aurelia, Abbess! I saw his eyelids flutter!"

Machus leaned forward. "Are you sure? He shouldn't be coming awake anytime soon, even if the surgery was successful."

Sister Aurelia rushed over with two lit lamps. One was placed on either side of Cyrus, allowing the vigil-keepers to plainly see what had been before them all along, masked by the dying daylight.

"Why, his color has returned!" Aurelia exclaimed.

"Indeed it has," said Machus, feeling the unconscious mouse's brow. "And his heart is beating more strongly than it was. This is better than I could have hoped for."

"Do you think he will live?" Vanessa inquired.

"He is not totally out of danger yet, but ... yes, I think his chances are very good now."

Cyril reached out to once more hold his brother's paw. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt Cyrus give a slight squeeze. Tears of relief finally broke free from his moist eyes and ran down his cheeks.

Geoff noticed this display, remembering some remarks a certain young novice mouse had made upon the walltop one day earlier that summer. "I thought real warriors never cried, Cyril," he gently chided with a soft smile.

"Then I guess I'm no warrior, Geoff, sir," Cyril sniffed. "But it doesn't matter. Cyrus is going to be okay, and that's what counts."

Although his eyes remained closed, Cyrus gave Cyril another squeeze of the paw. Cyril was sure of it.


	8. Chapter 34

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Four

That same evening, as Cyrus lay between life and death in Redwall's Infirmary, Urthblood's army neared the broadstream that lay in their path and were afforded their first look at the bridge that spanned it.

The sun had nearly set, and the subdued tones of the long twilight were settling down over the south of Mossflower. The layered chirruping of the summer insects was in full swing, filling the deep woods with its steady and constant buzz. From high in the treetops, birds of many kinds added their evensong voices to the natural chorus, serenading the dying day. Their lofty perches, so high above the marching horde, gave them a sense of safety, so they trilled and tweeted and chirped as they pleased. But, as all along the march so far, no other furred or feathered creatures had the courage to announce their presence.

Urthblood halted the column just before the bridge. The badger warrior stood upon the path with the other beasts of the vanguard, surveying the timber construct. He turned to Warnokur. "And you say you never heard of this before?"

The otter shook his head, staring at the span in open-jawed amazement. "Nay, M'Lord. I was at this spot the spring before last, and there was no sign of any bridge t'all. This thing's brand spankin' new."

The graceful arch climbed from either shore, rising to a height at its curved peak that was at least three or four times as tall as any of the otters. The gentle slope of the span alternated between series of short steps and smooth planked inclines, a progression that would make the crossing easy for beasts both large and small. The bridge was wide enough so that several creatures could walk abreast across it, and side pawrails assured that no weary traveler might accidentally stumble over the edge and suffer a serious fall into the waters far below. Sturdy timbers supported the structure a third of the way out from either bank, but the center of the river flowed freely beneath the highest stretch of the arch, thanks to a design which enabled the middle of the span to be upheld from either end without having to place pilings all across the river. Boating shrews and other river creatures would still have plenty of room to guide a fairly large vessel down the center of the waterway without danger of colliding with any part of the bridge.

Even if such a collision were to occur farther in toward either bank, the heavily-braced support pylons looked thick enough to withstand such a mishap without serious harm.

There was a plain wood plaque displayed on the first post of the railing, bearing the simple inscription, "Lorr's Bridge."

"Do you know anything of this Lorr?" Urthblood asked the two Redwall otters.

Winokur and Warnokur exchanged searching glances, and came up blank. "Not a name that means anything t' us, M'Lord," Warnokur said with a shrug. "Could be the name of a beast, or a tribe, or ... I just dunno."

Captain Saybrook looked to Warnokur. "You still wanna take a dive off o' that span, Warny mate?"

Warnokur stroked his whiskery chin in contemplation. "Um, on second thought, I dunno. If'n there's any big rock right below th' surface, it'd be th' last dive this pore otter'd ever take."

"Good thinkin'. Me, I shore do plan on takin' a dive in that nice cool water meself, but I'll do it from the banks where I won't brain m'self."

"You'll all have plenty of time for that," Urthblood told his otter chief. "I'm ordering everybeast here to wash off in this river - after two day's march on this dusty path, they'll need it. There's no telling when we'll come across so much fresh water again. I hazard that even our rats and weasels, who don't normally mind if they get a little ripe, will welcome the opportunity to cleanse themselves."

Saybrook made a face. "Ugh. Hope you'll let us otters have first crack, sir, so's we can get some decent swimmin' in afore them stinky vermints get the stream all mucked up."

Urthblood ran his gaze up and down Saybrook. "You look as if you might muck it up a bit yourself, Captain. Not to worry - these are fairly fast-flowing waters, so nobeast will have to share its grime with others. All the otters may swim across if they'd like, while the rest of us cross over the bridge. We'll set up camp on the opposite shore, and then everybeast can scrub themselves clean in the shallows. This is as far as we go today."

All creatures within earshot showed relief at this announcement, eager to soon be off their footpaws. While Saybrook led the massed plunge of otters into the twilit river, Winokur and Warnokur accompanied Lord Urthblood up the steps and inclines ahead of the rest of the army, until they'd gained the highest part of the span.

"Fine piece o' work, right 'nuff," Warnokur declared, jumping up and down to test the studiness of the planks beneath their feet. "Why, this contraption could take a score o' armored badgers at a time, all bouncin' up an' down like I am! Nary a quiver in these boards ... almost like I'm poundin' on good ol' solid ground. Whoever built this shore knew wot they was doin'!"

"Yes," Urthblood agreed, "this span seems sound enough. We should have no trouble bringing all the troops over it. And this will save us valuable time on the march to Salamandastron, since we will not have to search for a ferrybeast or build rafts of our own, or ford in shallows that could be perilous."

The railing had a wide top. Winokur leaned against it, intently gazing into the sunset, visible now that the broadstream cut a gap through the trees of Mossflower. Scores of short treestumps all around the vicinity of the bridge gave testament to how much lumber had been required to build it, and this additional clearing of so many trees helped improve the view along the waterway.

The young otter pulled at the railing; it seemed as strong as the rest of the bridge. "Hey, Dad ... I'm going to get atop this railing for a better view. Hold onto my rudder to steady me once I'm up, wouldja? I don't want to go losing my balance and take a headlong dive from this height."

Warnokur leaned out over the railing himself, gauging the distance to the water below. All thoughts of launching himself from this altitude had fled from his mind. "Aye, Wink, I'll make shore I don't leggo. Careful gettin' up, lad."

Warnokur grabbed onto his son's thick tail with both paws as Winokur climbed atop the side railing and perched precariously there, still scanning the eastern horizon.

"Ah, just as I thought," Winokur said, squinting against the sun's dying rays. "A beast can see almost clear to the coast from up here ... and the western mountains too, bold as day against the red sunset. My Lord, it looks like we're right about even with the southern end of the range. We should be able to head due west when we start in the morning, and clear the mountains with no problem."

But Urthblood shook his head. "The view is deceptive. There are difficult foothills south of the main range, and I would not try to take a force of this size through them. We will still have to march south along this path for another day before we will be able to strike west and have an easy route to the coastlands. Believe me, the extra day's march will save us trouble in the long run, and may even save us time."

"Oh. If you say so, Lord." Winokur shrugged and hopped backward off the railing. "You seem to know more about these parts than we do. I thought you'd been spending these past seasons in the Northlands."

"Most, but not all," Urthblood replied. "I am widely traveled, and I made it a point early in my wanderings to familiarize myself with all the approaches to Salamandastron. Every Badger Lord should know of such things." He turned and gave the signal to his captains awaiting at the north foot of the bridge to bring the troop column up and across.

Winokur's attention was drawn back down to the waters directly beneath them. He and Warnokur could see dozens of their fellow otters swimming and cavorting in the swift currents, so happy to be back in their element that they were unheeding of their clothing or the weapons they carried. Some were gobbling up small fish to satisfy their hunger, while others simply bobbed and splashed playfully with their companions.

"Hey, there!" Warnokur called down from the bridge high above them. "Don't go usin' up all the river. Save some fer us!"

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After the otters had had their fill of swimming, the other beasts took their turns at the water's edge, rinsing the grime and grit of two days out of their coats and clothes. This stretch of the river seemed clear of pike or other large, dangerous fish, so the bathers could enjoy their wet-down without worry.

The shrews and rats in charge of preparing meals lit their cookfires all along the south bank. This was a region of grasses, low shrubs and stumps, marking where trees had been felled for use in the construction of the mysterious Lorr's Bridge. Captains and officers of the various brigades claimed the stumps as seats for themselves, leaving the rest to make themselves as comfortable as they could upon the open ground. But it was a nice spot, and nobeast was heard to complain.

Dinner was finished off under a darkening sky adorned with more twinkling stars than anybeast could count. It was a joy to bed down in the open under such a perfect summer night sky, after spending the prior night huddled beneath the close canopy of Mossflower Woods. An army of this size didn't need to worry overmuch about lying exposed in such an unprotected clearing, but that didn't stop Urthblood from assigning sentry duty to a score of his soldiers, just as he had the night before.

Winokur doffed his habit and spread it on the ground to serve as his bed once more. Glancing about him at all the other soldierbeasts who were settling down for the night, he said to his father, "Why aren't we carrying any beds or tents? I always thought an army traveled with such things. We had to shelter under the trees last night when it rained, and everybeast here is sleeping right on the ground, even the captains."

"Lord Urthblood must've thought it'd weigh us down too much," Warnokur ventured. "You've seen fer yerself he likes t' travel light."

"Then what about all the packs?" Winokur asked. "I notice a lot of the weasels, ferrets and stoats are carrying backpacks that look pretty heavy. It can't be extra food, considering the rations we're on now. So what's in them?"

"Must be battle supplies an' such. Lord Urthblood's always ready fer any situation he might encounter. Those weasels have been carrying their burdens with 'em ever since they came down from the Northlands, so must be that Urthblood figgers it's somethin' we might need. Long as I don't hafta carry 'em, I don't pay much mind to wot's in those packs."

"Oh." Winokur lay back and nestled into the soft folds of Mhera's old habit. Soon he and most of the other marchers were fast asleep, slumbering peacefully beneath the summer moonlight, blissfully unaware of the tragic events which had that day befallen the peaceloving friends he had left behind at his Abbey home.

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That night, Machus made sure that only his foxes stood watch on the south ramparts, even though some of them had not slept for a night and a day. None complained; they knew what needed to be done. The Redwallers weren't even thinking of such things. It had been a draining day, and the relief that Cyrus would likely survive drove all other matters into the background. Most of the Abbeydwellers gave into their emotional exhaustion and surrendered to the inviting embrace of sleep. Not even Cyril, determined to sit up all night by his brother's bedside, could avoid nodding off well before the midnight hour had come. Vanessa and Sister Aurelia made sure he was properly tucked into the bed he'd sat upon, so that the young mouse brothers could sleep alongside each other.

A thickening cover of clouds rolled over Mossflower as night wore on, swallowing the moon and stars in its black veil. An ominous stillness seemed to descend upon the land, even as the slumbering woodlanders were oblivious to it. This was a night upon which evil deeds could be committed, never to be suspected when the full light of day returned.

Down at the east wallgate, the fox Tolar bade the otter guards to let him pass. They complied, seeing no reason to refuse him, and Tolar stole out into the darkness, melting into night ...

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Wolfrum's rest was not nearly so peaceful. The pain in his pierced footpaw kept him awake well past nightfall, and his nerves were on edge after his close brush with execution. He knew Machus would not hesitate to have him killed. That fox was as cold as a steel blade in winter. But sly, too, always those gears ticking away in his head. Wolfrum had been spared, so Machus must have his reasons. He always did, and it wasn't Wolfrum's place to try to figure out what they were.

Quite suddenly, Wolfrum found himself awake. The moon and stars were obscured so the rat had no clue as to the hour, but it felt like past midnight. His crudely-bandaged foot throbbed, and he'd been dreaming. The mental vision still hung before his mind's eye: the face of a frightened young mouse, which transformed into that of an angry fox, murder in its red eyes ...

"Gerroww! Havin' me sleep ruined, by that stupid li'l mousechild, an' that damned fox! T'weren't my fault, I were only defendin' meself, that Smallert's th' one t' blame ... "

Wolfrum looked about him, straining to see through the darkness whether any of his fellow outcasts might also be awake so that he might have somebeast to hear his complaints. Such misery as his was not to be suffered alone.

Their group was camped under the trees at the forest fringe, where they might have some shelter if any rain fell during the night. But now Wolfrum wished he'd bedded down out in the open. With all celestial lights hidden by the overcast sky, the dark gloom of Mossflower seemed oppressive and forbidding, even this close to the meadow. He had to look long and hard before he could make out the silhouettes of the rats nearest him.

They were sitting up. Good ... Wolfrum took comfort in their wakefulness. It made him feel less alone in this dark place. Better yet, now he had an audience for his grousing.

It never occurred to Wolfrum that he might be better off keeping his complaints to himself. He'd gotten them all kicked out of Redwall and was hardly in Machus's good graces at the moment, even if the swordfox had spared his life. Wolfrum felt alone, he was in pain, and the disturbing, half-remembered dream vision had done little to improve his edgy mood. Even an angry voice from one of his exiled companions, telling him to shut up, would be an improvement over the deathly silence that clung to the near-black of Mossflower Woods.

"Psst! Hey, Gorsul, that you?" Wolfrum whispered to the nearest rat shadow. "Shame 'bout pore ol' Speeg, that dirty Smallert's a right nasty madbeast. Hope Machus has got that mean ol' weasel gutted an' chopped up fer fishbait by now. Slayin' Speeg like that, an' that idiot mouse whelp who got in th' middle of it all ... "

The black rat shadow haltingly rose and backed wordlessly away from Wolfrum.

"Hey, don't go leavin' yer ol' pal all alone on a gloomy night like this!" Wolfrum hissed more loudly. "Have some heart, matey!"

Two other figures who'd been resting nearby also got up and backed away from him. Their movements were strained and unnatural. Something was wrong here, but Wolfrum couldn't immediately guess what it was.

Another figure took form out of the darkness. This one was moving toward Wolfrum in a silent and stealthy crouch. The rat did not even see it until it was mere paces away. The shape of the head and fullness of the tail were unmistakable: a fox! And it was holding an unsheathed sword at its side.

Icy terror seized Wolfrum. An armed fox would have only one reason for creeping out here at this hour. A strangled, incoherent cry escaped Wolfrum's throat as he climbed to his feet and turned to flee. It took several steps before he realized his impaled footpaw was in no shape for him to be running on it. The pain made him limp badly, worse with each step, but he did not stop, driven into a blind and mindless panic. That fox equalled death for him, and knew he must not let it catch him. But there was no way he could outrun it, and this time there was no small mousechild to snatch up and use as a shield.

Wolfrum screamed, screamed for all he was worth as he pounded his desperate way into the dark depths of Mossflower in a vain attempt to escape his doom. He screamed because he knew his situation was hopeless, but there was nothing else he could do.

The scream cut off abruptly moments later. Wolfrum's fellow rats, and the weasels and ferrets and stoats who'd been banished along with them, settled down and tried very hard not to think about what had just happened. It was none of their business.

The anguished cry was barely heard inside of Redwall. A few of the otter guards thought they might have heard something strange that they couldn't quite put their paw on - some bird having a nightmare in its nest, perhaps. And several of the Abbeydwellers who slumbered near open windows had the faint sound intrude upon their dreams, a closing note to all the terrible things which had taken place the day before, but none would remember it come morning.

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As had become their routine, the marchers of Urthblood's army were up with the dawn, breakfasted and underway before the sun was above the treetops. With bellies full and canteens topped off from the stream, they set out along the road once more, leaving behind them the mystery of Lorr's Bridge.

The third day of their southward march passed utterly without incident, and as evening approached Urthblood called a halt and ordered camp established beneath the trees along the roadside. They'd traveled far enough south, he announced, and tomorrow they would turn west, leaving the road behind them and striking out into the heart of southern Mossflower, where paths were not so easy to find and the going would be tougher. Nevertheless, there was a sense of relief throughout the soldiery that the first leg of the journey was at an end. They were three days closer to their destination, an encouraging reminder that soon the tiring legwork would be over and done with, and their journey would be at an end.

Of course, by that time they might be fighting for their very lives against Urthfist and the hares of the Long Patrol, but nobeast seemed overly worried by this. They were all trained soldiers, and the prospect of a fierce and bloody battle did not daunt them as much as the weary marching needed to carry them to their next contest.

Night fell over the south of Mossflower, a night which would prove to be every bit as uneventful for the marchers as their third day on the road had been. But back at Redwall, in the aftermath of the unfortunate happenings there, Abbess Vanessa would have her paws quite full.


	9. Chapter 35

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Five

As dawn broke over Redwall, the foxes came down from their long night of sentry duty. A fresh crew of otters and squirrels took their place, posting lookouts at all four corners of the walltop.

Two of the brushtailed swordbeasts were seen to go out the south wallgate and pay a brief visit to the banished vermin in the forest. They quickly returned, and joined their fellows for a bite of breakfast in Great Hall. Then it was up to their rooms, for the first real sleep many of them would have in two days.

The one named Tolar sought out Machus in the Infirmary, where the fox captain had spent the night with most of the Abbey leaders in the vigil over Cyrus. Tolar took Machus and Lady Mina aside and spoke a few low words with them that nobeast else could hear, then withdrew from the room. Machus returned to Cyrus's bedside.

As they watched, the rising sun cleared the east wall. Golden rays spilled through the window above the bed, and the whole area seemed suddenly aglow with life and hope. If there had been any doubt that Cyrus could survive his ordeal, the morning light was determined to chase such doubts away. His color had returned almost to normal, his heart was beating slow and strong, and his breathing was deep and full. He looked like a mousechild merely asleep in a comfortable slumber, not one who had been nearly mortally wounded the previous afternoon.

Sister Aurelia felt Cyrus's brow. "His temperature seems fine. By my word, if I hadn't seen this with my own eyes, I'd never have believed it. Machus, you truly are a miracle worker."

"Thank you, Sister. I did the best I could ... with a little help from this stouthearted lad right here." Machus ruffled the fur between Cyril's ears. The young mouse was still somewhat weak from giving blood the day before, and nibbled a scone as he sat attentively at his brother's side.

"Mr. Machus, sir, do you think he'll wake up soon?"

"Probably not for a day or two ... althought, he's made such good progress so far in such an unexpectedly short time, I wouldn't put it past Cyrus to be awake before sundown. He's young and strong, and that may have made the difference in his survival."

"Even though he's looking well," Sister Aurelia reminded Cyril, "he's not out of danger yet. His recovery will take a long time. I don't expect him to be fully up and about again until almost summer's end, even under the best of circumstances."

"Yes," said Abbess Vanessa from the foot of the bed, "but now there is great hope, whereas before there was little." She turned to the healer who'd wrought this wonder. "Machus, may I please have a word? Over here, away from the bed. As a matter of fact, I think we should all stop crowding Cyrus so much. He needs fresh air, and he won't get any with half of Redwall standing over him."

Obediently, most of the vigil-keepers backed away, and a few trickled out of the Infirmary altogether, going down to Great Hall for breakfast. Only Sister Aurelia and Cyrus stayed at the bedside to watch over Cyrus.

Vanessa and Arlyn took Machus aside in the far corner of the room. "Things seem to be turning out well, as far as Cyrus's recovery goes," the Abbess said. "But now, I would like to speak with the two beasts who were responsible for this. There are some things I would say to them. Please have them summoned up here, starting with that rat who put Cyrus before the sword."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Abbess."

The two mice looked askance at Machus. Alexander and Lady Mina drifted over to join the conversation. "And why is that?" Vanessa demanded.

"It appears that Wolfrum ran off during the night. He is no longer among the troops outside."

"Ran off?" Arlyn said skeptically. "I had heard that you put quite a hole in his foot yesterday. I'd be very surprised if he did any running anywhere."

"Well, we'll just have to bring him back." Vanessa turned to the two squirrels. "Alex, organize a patrol - "

Machus interrupted, his paw raised. "Abbess, I fear that might only be a waste of time."

A suspicion was growing inside Vanessa. "Oh? Do explain."

"He may very well be dead. If his fellow soldiers saw fit to punish him in their own way, it would not be the first time such a thing has happened."

"And if that is the case, then what are you going to do about it?"

"Do? Nothing at all. If that scoundrel rests this morning in some hidden grave deep within Mossflower, then the entire incident is settled to my satisfaction."

"And I don't suppose this might have anything to do with the fox of yours who reported to you just now, or the ones who have been seen going in and out the Abbey last night and this morning?"

Lady Mina stepped in. "This is a Northlands matter, Abbess, and it has been handled in the Northlands manner. Let us waste no more time on it."

"A Northlands matter? Need I remind you of what took place on the lawns of Redwall less than a day ago? Look at Cyrus, lying there. This is a Redwall matter if ever there was one, and you should not have taken this into your own paws!"

"The misconduct of my own troops is my responsibility," Machus said stubbornly. "I must discipline them as I see fit."

Vanessa looked severely from Machus to Mina and back again. "One would almost get the idea that the two of you are accustomed to such things!"

"Lord Urthblood did not tame so many vermin with gentle words," Mina said matter-of-factly. "I have bloodied my own paws more than once, cleaning up such distasteful messes as this, and so has Machus. Sometimes justice meted out within the ranks is more effective than that imposed from above. We've learned to turn a blind eye when they settle matters of discipline on their own. For my own part, I will say only that if Wolfrum still lives, I fully intend to put a shaft through his skull if ever I see him again."

Vanessa defiantly folded her paws over her chest. "Not in this Abbey, you won't."

"He would not make it that far, Abbess."

Vanessa gritted her teeth and turned away. Clearly, there would be no arguing with the grimly determined squirrel Lady. To Machus she said, "And what of the weasel who wielded the weapon? I suppose he has also 'run off' in the night?"

"Oh, no. I know right where he is. I put him in the cell with the hare, Hanchett. Of course, hares and weasels are natural enemies, and I doubt Smallert could hold his own against any fighter of the Long Patrols. There is a very good chance he did not survive the night."

"Well. Well. I see that when you said you would take care of disciplining the creatures responsible for harming Cyrus, you had your own ideas in mind. If we were not so indebted to you for bringing Cyrus back from the brink of death, I might have some severe reprimands for you. I suppose somebeast should go down to the tunnels and see whether that weasel is still alive."

"I suppose so," Machus echoed. "If he is, I will gladly turn him over to you if you wish, so that you may punish him according to your own law. Out of curiosity, Abbess, what is the Redwall penalty for a crime such as his?"

"Um, he would be ... " Vanessa let her words trail off as it dawned on her what the fox was getting at. "If he were a Redwaller, he would be declared Outcast, forbidden from ever entering this Abbey again. And in this case, that would put him outside with the bloodthirsty cutthroats who may have already killed that rat. I guess his prospects don't look too bright either way."

"Not to mention that he slew one of his fellow soldiers," Machus reminded her. "He will still have to answer for that, even if Cyrus turns out to be all right. So, Abbess, I think you see that it's probably best if you leave it to me to take care of this. I don't wish to see further blood shed in Redwall any more than you do, so I will conduct any additional punishments outside your walls. Unless you wish to take Smallert into your own custody, his fate is sealed. I will happily surrender him to you if that if your wish, although frankly I can't imagine what you would do with him."

"First thing is to see whether he's still alive," said Vanessa. "If he is, I would still have a word with him. And since as Abbess I have been somewhat remiss in looking in on our guest from Salamandastron, I shall go down to their common cell right now. Then, we shall see what there is to be seen."

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Vanessa wrinkled her nose distastefully as she stepped into the dim cell.

Hanchett and Smallert sat on opposite sides of the cellar room, returning her gaze. "Well, at least you're both still alive," she said, mostly to herself.

Machus was at her shoulder. "Take care, Abbess. This hare will be keen to escape, and he might try anything."

"'Fraid you've mistaken me for one o' your own blightin' kind," Hanchett said to the swordfox. "No hare of the Long Patrol would endanger a blameless goodbeast. Good mornin', Abbess."

Machus studied Smallert, then said to Hanchett, "I see you've freed my weasel's paws, after binding them last evening. What made you do that?"

"Nothin' made me, chap," Hanchett replied. "We got t' talkin', an' he turned out t' be a more decent vermin than I expected. The belt was hurtin' him, so I took it off."

"I must say I'm surprised. And rather disappointed. I didn't put him in with you so he could be comfortable."

"Ho, yes, all the bally comforts of home!" Hanchett sarcastically waved his paw to indicate the barren cell, with its dank walls and bare stone floor. Then his tone grew colder. "We both know why you put this poor sod in with me, an' wot you were countin' on me doin' to 'im. An' I couldn't be happier that you're disappointed. But I don't do foxes' dirty work."

Machus sent Smallert a baleful glare that made the weasel shrink down where he sat. "I would call it justice, myself."

"Not my justice to give. Bloody your own paws, redfur." Hanchett turned to Vanessa. "I'm sure you had no part in this, Abbess ma'am. You must've had your own paws full carin' for that mousechild who got sliced by this irresponsible longneck. How's the lad doin', if I may ask?"

"It looks as if he will probably be all right, although it was a pretty near thing." Vanessa once more paused to take in the unappealing cell. "Machus, it has been three days since Lord Urthblood left. I want this hare released from this chamber. We can put him in one of the dormitory rooms up on the third floor, where your foxes can guard him."

"Abbess, I cannot agree to that."

"Oh ho!" Hanchett roared. "A fox, tellin' the bally Abbess of Redwall wot to do in her own Abbey. If that's not a sight!"

"Mr. Hare, please contain yourself," Vanessa requested.

Hanchett obediently shut up.

Vanessa turned back to Machus. "Lord Urthblood asked us to keep Hanchett at Redwall for ten days after he departed. I will do my best to honor that request, but not like this. If the choice is between keeping Hanchett locked in this cell or risking his escape from a less secure part of the Abbey, then I will chance his escape. But I will not demean this good creature for one day more by confining him under such conditions as these."

She came further into the chamber, all the way over to Hanchett's feet. Machus was quick to stay at her side, paw on his sword hilt. To the hare she said, "I asked you once before, and now I will ask again: will you swear upon your word that you will not take advantage of our kindness if we release you to another part of the Abbey? That you will not attempt any escape from Redwall?"

Hanchett smiled forlornly and shook his head. "My answer's the same as before, an' I won't make a promise I mean to break. Not to you, Abbess. If it were just this brushtail an' his gang, I'd tell 'em the bally moon's made o' green cheese if it would gain my freedom. Guess I'll just hafta serve out the next seven days down here, with a killer weasel fer company."

"You see?" Machus said to Vanessa. "By his own admission, we would not be able to trust him."

Vanessa remained resolute. "Then you'll just have to figure out some other way to safeguard his captivity within the Abbey, Machus, because I am ordering Hanchett released from this cell forthwith."

She and Hanchett both looked toward the fox captain to see what his reaction would be. Machus chewed at his lip in concentration for several moments, then said, "Very well. But I would ask, Abbess, that you give me until noontide to make other arrangements for this hare's safekeeping. He should be able to join us for lunch up on the lawns, but until then he must remain here. Is that satisfactory?"

"You have until noon," Vanessa nodded. "If you haven't worked out something by then, I'm sending Monty down here anyway to release Hanchett. So I suggest you get right on it."

"Yes, Abbess."

Hanchett stuck out a paw toward Vanessa, although he did not rise from where he sat; he didn't want to make any move that Machus could use as an excuse for striking him down. "Thank you, ma'am. Your decency is appreciated." And the two of them shook paws warmly.

"You're welcome. I'll see you at lunch, if not before then." She turned from Hanchett and walked over to the other side of the cell. Machus followed, trusting the shrews in the corridor beyond to keep Hanchett honest while his back was to the hare.

Vanessa regarded Smallert. The weasel stared up uncomfortably at her and Machus. "As for you," she said, "I'm not in any great hurry to see you liberated from this prison. You have spilled blood within our home, and nearly taken the life of one dear to us. What have you to say for yourself?"

Smallert swallowed nervously. "Uh, I'm terribly ashamed of meself, ma'am. Never meant it to happen, but ... well, I'd give my own life in a moment, if it could undo what I done. I, uh, heard you say the lad's gonna be awright, prob'ly. Is that true?"

"It is, thanks mostly to Machus and his healing skills. But the child is not out of danger completely, and his recovery promises to be a long and difficult one. And he will probably carry fear and distrust of vermin with him throughout the rest of his life. I know you don't like to be thought of that way, but that is how he will see your kind: as vermin. All because of what you did here. It certainly doesn't further Lord Urthblood's cause of getting all creatures to live in peace together."

At the mention of the badger warrior, Smallert went pale and rigid. His gaze went from Vanessa to Machus. "Please, sir, don't tell Lord Urthblood 'ow I acted here. I don't wanna die a dishonored beast. Kill me, but don't let my disgrace outlive me. That's my dyin' request. Please, sir, say you'll do this fer me, once you've done with me what you gotta do."

"It's probably more than you deserve, but I'll consider it."

"I don't want any creature put to death inside this Abbey," Vanessa told Machus. "If that is the penalty you deem you must deal this weasel, then I want it done outside our walls. It is not our way to take the life of any beast, except in the direct defense of this Abbey. Even if Cyrus had died, I would be loathe to have his attacker slain when he sits helpless in our power. And Smallert has shown remorse over his actions. Were it not for the rat he slew, I would urge you to let him live."

"We are not Redwallers," said Machus. "The mercy you would show Smallert is a luxury no army can afford. I will of course honor your wishes. No execution will take place within Redwall or on its grounds."

Vanessa looked down at Smallert again. The weasel seemed utterly resigned to his fate, yet he was more worried over what Urthblood would think of his crime than he was about his own death. It was clear testament to the Badger Lord's training of his soldiers, and the influence he held over them even from a distance.

"Machus, before you do anything to this beast, I would like him brought up to the Infirmary, so that he may visit Cyrus and those who have been most saddened by this incident. That can be part of his punishment, but it might also lighten his heart to see for himself that Cyrus will be all right."

"It will be done, Abbess." Machus gazed thoughtfully at Smallert. "Don't worry - I have an idea that will let this weasel see several more days before he leaves this life. There will be plenty of time to do what you ask."

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"Droge, why are you crying?"

The hedgehog child looked up at Maura through teary eyes. She'd brought him and the other children out here to the orchard after paying a sunrise visit to the Infirmary to see how Cyrus was doing. This sunny-shady spot under the fruit trees was a favorite place among both young and old alike, where a beast could lose itself from cares and worries. And although it was halfway between breakfast and lunch, Maura had broken out a creamy plum pudding from the kitchens as a diverting treat for the youngsters. Most of them now gleefully sported sticky lips and paws as a sign of their enjoyment of the pudding. But Droge sat with a nearly untouched bowl and a look of misery on his face.

"Mutha Maura, it's my fault Cyrus got hurted by that rat."

"Now, what makes you say that, Droge?"

The young 'hog sniffed, wiping a paw across his damp nose. "T'was alla that rollin' I did th' day afore last. If'n I hadn't stuck that mean ol' nasty rat, he wouldn'ta got even meaner an' cut open poor Cyrus."

Maura pulled Droge over to her and cradled him as much as his spikes would allow. "Don't be silly. That rat was trouble waiting to happen, and it had nothing to do with you pricking him. You pricked Machus, and he didn't go and hurt anybeast over it, did he? No, Droge, that no good rat was fighting with a weasel, and Cyrus just got in the way. It could have been any of you. Thankfully, it looks as if Cyrus is going to be just fine, given time."

Cuffy the dormouse came over and carefully patted Droge on his headspikes. "Don't be sad, Drogey. Mama Maura sez it'll be 'kay. Not your fault."

"Listen to your friend," Maura soothed. "He speaks good sense."

Cuffy stared up at the badger with wide eyes. "Mama Maura, I'm 'fraid o' that mean rat. What if he comes after morra us?"

Maura's brow furrowed momentarily. She'd heard about what Machus had told Vanessa and Arlyn in the Infirmary earlier, and she'd shared their view that it was very unlikely Wolfrum had run away in the night. Perhaps it was justice, but it wasn't any kind of justice she was comfortable with.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore," Maura told all the children around her. "He's gone to Hellsgates."

"Hellsgates?"

"Where's that?"

"Nevva hearda it."

"That's where wicked beasts go after they've done something very, very bad." Maura gazed earnestly into one face after another, lowering her voice. "And they never come back!"

The youngsters sat spellbound, giving the badger matriarch their full attention. "Nevva, evva?" a baby bankvole squeaked.

"No," Maura answered. "Never, ever."

Padgett the mole moaned. "Uurrr, Mutha Maura, oi doan't wanna go thurr!"

"Now, now Paj," she cooed, taking the velvety molebabe into her embrace, "goodbeasts like us don't ever have to go there. So you'll never see that bad old rat again. He can never hurt another creature, here at Redwall or anywhere else."

Maura could sense the little ones relaxing , and that made her feel very fulfilled. The younger Abbey children looked to her for comfort and reassurance in times of unease; her pleasure and purpose came from providing just that. She'd wondered if she might be going too far when she'd mentioned Hellsgates, whether that might not scare them rather than ease their minds. But they needed to know that the creature who'd harmed Cyrus was forever gone from their lives, and she could tell now that they were less anxious than before. They'd been more scared of Wolfrum than she'd realized.

"And one more thing," she added. "All the other rats and weasels and ferrets and stoats have been put out of our Abbey, except for the weasel who hurt Cyrus, and he's locked up and under guard down in the cellars. So you don't have anything to fear from any of them either."

"Wha' 'bout th' squirlydogs?" Cuffy asked.

"They're goodbeasts," Maura said automatically, surprising herself with her own words. "Their leader helped save Cyrus. That mouse would not be alive now if it weren't for Machus the fox ... um, I mean Machus the squirreldog."

Droge wiggled away from Maura's grasp. "I feel better now."

"I'm glad to hear that, Droge. Now, do you feel like having some more pudding?"

At the mention of that food, Droge reached up and touched the top of his head. "Hey, Cuffy!" he complained. "Y'got my headspikes all sticky!"

00000000000

As it turned out, Machus had both of his problems solved well before lunchtime. All it took was two short lengths of chain.

It was a simple matter to kill two birds with one stone. A quick trip to the Abbey smithy produced two pairs of manacle cuffs that would fit snugly around the appropriate appendage of hare and weasel. Hanchett and Smallert were chained together, forepaw to forepaw and footpaw to footpaw. Neither captive would be able to slip these bonds, and the hare would not be able to run very fast or very far with the other beast bound to him. Machus made a point of fastening Hanchett's two right paws to Smallert's left ones, since Hanchett was right-pawed. Machus recalled this fact from seeing the Salamandastron hare brandish the knife that he was going to throw at Urthblood. The swordfox always paid attention to details like that. There would be no escapes on his watch.

Even with this precaution in place, Machus ordered a pair of his foxes to accompany the pair at all times, wherever in the Abbey they went. The hares of the Long Patrol were fanatical in their devotion to their badger masters. Machus would put nothing past this one, not even clubbing Smallert unconscious and making a break with the weasel still chained at his side. A fighting hare would know many tricks, and Machus was determined to guard Hanchett more closely now than before.

The hour before noon found Hanchett and Smallert up in the Infirmary. Machus agreed with Vanessa that the weasel should see Cyrus, and be made to fully face the consequences of his actions. Since Hanchett was not to be released for another seven days, Smallert would have another seven extra days of life while he played the part of a living ball-and-chain. Machus wanted to make those days as joyless for the weasel as he could.

If there was any joy in Smallert's heart at his temporary reprieve, it didn't show in his face as he stood gazing down at Cyrus. Even the most hard-hearted of the Redwallers present found it impossible to maintain their enmity toward the creature who'd injured their young bellringer, so tortured was the expression on Smallert's face. The story had been told, by Montybank and Geoff and others who had witnessed these events, how it had been Wolfrum the rat who'd actually put Cyrus in harm's way, how Smallert had not wounded the mousechild on purpose, and how shocked the weasel had seemed upon realizing what he had done. None would argue that Smallert had behaved barbarously. But it was plain now as he visited Cyrus's sickbed how genuinely aggrieved Smallert was by his actions.

Cyril, at first cool toward the beast who'd nearly slain his brother, looked at Smallert for a long time. Then, he came over to the weasel's side and put a paw on Smallert's arm.

"It's okay," Cyril said. "You don't have to be sad anymore. He's going to be all right."

"I'm mighty glad t' hear it," Smallert answered. "I'm a deadbeast either way, but I don't care 'bout that. I jus' want this lad to get well. I c'n go to my grave wi' peace o' mind, if I can know he'll be walkin' in this world fer seasons to come."

Cyril could only give a blank stare of confoundment. "But ... no, you don't understand. It doesn't have to be that way. Cyrus is going to live."

"Smallert also slew one of his fellow soldierbeasts," Machus said to Cyril. "He must answer for that misdeed as well. And there can be only one punishment for that."

"Oh." Cyril looked downcast at this news.

Smallert forced a weak smile. "Like you said, lad, yer brother's gonna be okay, an' nuthin' could make this heart gladder. But I'm a soldier, an' gotta face th' music fer all I've done." He yanked at the chain linking him to Hanchett. "This fine fightin' beast, he unnerstands. Gotta keep discipline in th' ranks. It's gotta be done."

Hanchett put on a distasteful face. "Actshully, chum, Lord Urthfist would never hafta execute any o' his hares, 'cos we'd jolly well know better than to pull a sword on anybeast wot didn't deserve it, or cut down one o' our own."

Smallert hung his head. "Well, you was raised t' be good 'n' decent. Ain't so easy bein' that way, when fer most o' yer life others assume th' worst from you. I thought that mebbe I could change, but I guess I was wrong."

Vanessa was moved, in spite of her anger over what Smallert had done to Cyrus, and she took Machus aside. "I have heard from some of our otters that the rat Wolfrum pushed his fellow rat before Smallert's blade, much as he did with Cyrus. This weasel acted unwisely and in the heat of the moment, but his missing ear clearly proves he was provoked into his actions. And he seems truly remorseful of the trouble he has caused. Is there any chance at all that you might be able to show him clemency, and spare his life?"

"I can afford to show him no mercy," the swordfox replied. "As long as he stays within Redwall, I will honor your right to accept responsibility for Smallert yourself. Do so, and you will be free to punish him or pardon him in accordance with your own rules. But he would have to dwell henceforth within this Abbey. Are you sure you want such a creature living amongst you?"

Geoff looked sideways at the Abbess. "I'm not so sure about this, Vanessa ... "

"If Cyril can find it in his heart to forgive Smallert for what he did to Cyrus, we should be able to do the same. I do not believe Smallert hurt Cyrus or took the other rat's life intentionally. Right now he is at our mercy, and as Abbess I cannot easily stand by and watch a creature who is in our care be put to death." She glanced at Machus. "Not even if it is your justified sword that deals his fate, and the deed takes place outside our walls ... "

"We have time to consider such things," said Machus. "For the next seven days, Smallert shall remain chained to this hare. I will not release him from that service before then. In the meantime, we will watch how Cyrus recovers, and see if he continues to improve at this encouraging rate. That is the most important thing. The question of what to do with Smallert will wait until then."

Sister Aurelia called out from her patient's bedside. "Oh, Machus! Cyrus is stirring. I think he may be getting ready to wake up."

Machus went to Cyrus and examined the unconscious mouse. "Yes, it could be," he concluded after several moments. "He is recovering well. He could awaken at any time."

Cyril clasped his brother's paw. "I'm going to be here when he does. I don't care how long it takes, I'll be here for him."

"I think that's a good thing," Geoff agreed. The recorder mouse shot a glance at Smallert. "I also think it would be a good idea if certain beasts aren't here when he awakes. That weasel was the last thing Cyrus saw before he was struck down, and I hardly think it should be the first sight that greets him when he opens his eyes."

"Good point. Machus, it's nearly lunchtime anyway. Hanchett and Smallert can wait down on the lawns. Please have them taken out."

"Of course, Abbess." Machus made a paw gesture, and the two foxes in charge of guarding the chained pair moved forward to escort them from the Infirmary.

But Smallert raised a paw to stay them for a moment, then shuffled forward to Cyrus, bringing his hare companion clinking and jangling along with him. The weasel leaned over the still form, reaching out carefully to touch Cyrus on the breast. His paw hovered there momentarily, barely brushing the white chest fur. Then he withdrew it, not wanting to disturb the mousechild out of turn.

"Get well, liddle bucko," he whispered, then allowed Hanchett and the foxes to lead him away from the bed and out of the room.

00000000000

In the minutes that followed, Cyrus stirred several times more but did not come awake.

Cyril, true to his word, declared that he would sit by his brother through lunch, and through dinner if necessary, until Cyrus regained consciousness. Sister Aurelia also wished to maintain the vigil, and arranged for Friar Hugh to send up enough food and drink for those who wanted to take their lunch in the Infirmary.

Geoff rose from his seat next to Cyril and gave a stretch that put him up on his tip-paws. "Oh, my, that feels good. These old bones aren't used to sitting up all night in the same spot. If you'll all excuse me, I think I'll go outside to eat. It's a beautiful day. Somebeast please fetch me if Cyrus wakes up, and I'll hurry back here as quickly as I can."

Vanessa looked at her old friend. "You sound as if you don't plan on coming right back after lunch, Geoff."

"Actually, Cyrus said something to me just before this whole unfortunate incident occurred. Something that struck me as possibly of some importance. I'd like to look into it while his words are still fresh in my mind."

"Oh? What was it?"

"We were wondering why the Abbey founders did not appear to have left any warning or prophecy about the times of trouble that Lord Urthblood predicts. Cyrus mentioned that they didn't seem to have foreseen General Ironbeak either - he's the raven who tried to conquer Redwall in the time of Matthias - and I thought that very odd. I want to read through the histories of those times, to see if they might hold some clue to this mystery. I can't shake the feeling that there's something important tied up in all of this, some point that we really ought to know. At the time, I almost felt like the spirit of Martin the Warrior was trying to communicate with me. It was very strange."

Old Arlyn raised an eyebrow. "If that's true, it would be the first time that our venerable founding Warrior has made his presence felt since I've been alive. We must not ignore it. But if all you're going to be doing is reading through some of the recent histories, why don't you bring them up here? I'm sure that when Cyrus wakes up he'll want to see you."

"Perhaps I will." But I don't want to make it too crowded in here, and besides," Geoff glanced from Sister Aurelia to Cyril and Billus the mole, "I think the ones Cyrus will most want to see will be right here when he awakens."


	10. Chapter 36

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Six

It took longer for Cyrus to regain consciousness than anticipated. The day after his surgery passed into evening, and thence to full night, and still his eyes did not open. He did stir from time to time, and his overall appearance did continue to improve, but wakefulness eluded him.

When the long-awaited event did occur, on the second morning of his recovery, it was like a twin dawn for the Abbeyfolk. The golden sun that rose high above the treetops of Mossflower was mirrored by the glow of hope and cheer which shone from the Infirmary, and spread quickly throughout the Abbey. Cyrus was fully returned to them, and the time of this darkness was past.

Cyril was, of course, the first to see his brother's eyelids flutter, then slowly slip open. The older sibling had never left Cyrus for even a moment, keeping the constant vigil that he had sworn to hold, although he had napped off and on during the night. Now, his perseverence paid off. Cyrus would wake to behold the mouse dearest to him above all other creatures in the world.

The sun was already high enough to throw its morning rays through the Infirmary window onto the bed where Cyrus lay. For a brief moment his eyes came halfway open; then, the glare made him squint to the merest of slits. It was, after all, the first light Cyrus had beheld in two days, and his vision, like the rest of his body, would need time to return to normal. A cloudy day might have made his awakening easier on his eyes, but it seemed only proper that he should fully rejoin the living when summer was in its full brilliance.

Cyril clutched Cyrus by the paw. "Cyrus! It's me, Cyril! I'm right here!"

Cyrus squinted up at his brother. "Cyr ... am I okay?"

"Yes!" Cyril smiled, struggling to keep from shouting with joy. "Yes, you're fine. It's going to be okay, Cy!"

"Oh. I had the most frightful dream, Cyril ... beasts fighting ... blood ... "

Cyril was trying to decide whether he should tell Cyrus that it hadn't been a dream at all when Sister Aurelia popped up from the bed opposite his. The healer mouse had been snoozing, since she'd been awake during much of the night. Instantly she was beside Cyrus, feeling the youngster's brow. "Oh, hullo, Sister Aurelia," Cyrus said weakly.

"Hullo yourself, Cyrus, and welcome back," Aurelia beamed. "You've been away from us for awhile, and had us pretty worried, too. But I can see now that you're back to stay."

Cyrus closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I sorta 'member what happened," he murmured. "But it's all kinda blurry ... "

"And with any luck, it will stay that way," Aurelia told him. "No creature of your young seasons should have to face what you've been through. Best for it to fade from your memory and never return." She turned to glance at Machus. The swordfox had approached when Cyrus awoke, but stood back where the mousechild would not be able to see him easily. He looked a question at Aurelia, who turned back to their patient. "Cyrus, there's a fox who'd like to have a look at you, but don't worry. It's all right. He's a friend."

"You mean ... Mr. Machus?" Cyrus screwed up his face in concentration. "Yes ... I remember him. He's a good fox."

Machus flashed a warm smile and stepped forward. "I try to be, son. Now, let's have a quick look at you, then I'll leave you to your Abbey friends. I'm sure they'll all want to come up for a visit when they hear you're awake."

He turned down the covers and pressed his paw lightly all around the bandaged wound. "Does that hurt at all?"

"Kinda sore, but nothing that hurts really bad," Cyrus answered, studying Machus as he worked. "Feels kinda stiff, an' scratchy, and ... it itches!"

"Well, that's to be expected. Try not to scratch at it, Cyrus. I know that's easier said than done, but you don't want to risk opening up the wound again. If you absolutely can't resist, scratch around the dressing, but not on or under the bandages."

"I'll be here to keep a constant eye on him, don't worry," Aurelia assured Machus. "And I'll warn him as many times as I have to, if I see him clawing away at himself."

Machus pulled the covers back up, leaving enough room for Cyrus to lay his paws atop the blanket. "Well, young lad, things are looking well for you. I don't think any of my seasoned troopers could have pulled off a speedier or more satisfactory recovery than you have. Rest up, and we'll get you back on your feet in another day or two."

"Thank you, sir," Cyrus smiled weakly, and looked to Cyril. "So, I guess it wasn't a dream after all, huh?"

Sister Aurelia took Machus aside, leaving the two mouse brothers to themselves. "Was that just an act," she whispered, "or do you really think he's out of the woods?"

"I think the danger's past," Machus said confidently. "If any infection were going to set in, we'd have seen it by now. And there's no sign of any bleeding inside. I don't foresee any relapse. It might take more than another day or two for him to be up and about, but other than that I was being completely truthful to Cyrus just now."

"What about Cyrus scratching at himself?" Aurelia asked with some concern.

"I don't think that will be much of a problem. He's still very weak, and will probably spend a lot more time sleeping over the next few days. And he'll be getting lots of visits from other Redwallers, which will help keep his mind off the itch during his waking periods. All in all, I'd say the worst is well past."

"Oh, I do hope so." The healer mouse gazed at Cyrus. "This Abbey owes you a greater debt than we can ever repay you, Machus. You have brought one of our young ones back from the very brink of death ... something I could never have done, or Abbess Vanessa either. You truly are a good and noble beast - words I never imagined I would say to any fox!"

"Things are changing, Sister," Machus nodded. "Things are changing."

00000000000

Fitkin the shrew ran a small ferry barge on the shores of the wide stream that ran east to west across the Western Plains. He used his raft to move passing travelers from one bank to the other, never to sail them farther up or downstream. Some ferry shrews lived on their craft and made their home wherever the currents carried them. But Fitkin kept a quaint dugout hovel with timber roof along the south shore, and there he dwelt, favoring a firmly-grounded abode to one always on the water. He called the hut his "tollkeeper's station," and in it he kept all the goods that he collected for his services. His home might not have been much to look at from the outside, but Fitkin lived as rich a life as any ferry shrew on the Plains.

His usual customers were solitary wanderers, or companions in groups of two or three. Once in awhile a larger band would engage him for the use of his ferry, but that was rare. And so Fitkin was at something of a loss on this summer's day, when an armor-clad badger and eighty fighting hares emerged from the morning mists and stood gazing at him expectantly.

The badger rumbled a question. "You are a ferry shrew?"

"Well," Fitkin wagged a paw at himself, "I'm a shrew. And yonder's a ferry. Whadda you think?"

The badger's mailed paw went to his sword hilt, then fell slowly away. Unsmiling, he said, "I can see you must live alone, and probably for too many seasons, if your manners toward strangers are any indication."

"Never needed nobeast but myself t' get by," Fitkin said defiantly, as he scanned the ranks of hares, and found them to be beyond easy counting. "Regular li'l army y' got here," he observed.

"I am Lord Urthfist of Salamandastron, and these are the hares of my Long Patrol. We are bound for Redwall, and possibly for war."

Fitkin scratched at his jaw. "Redwall. Ain't that that place up north Mossflower ways with them fightin' mice an' squirrels? Never been there m'self, but word o' their deeds has spread pretty far throughout these lands. S'posed t' be pretty decent folk. What's yer quarrel with 'em?"

"I have no quarrel with decent creatures," Urthfist said. "Tell me, what news have you had from Mossflower in recent days?"

The shrew gave a shrug. "You 'n' this gang o' yers is the first strangers I see'd in more'n a fortnight. Why? Sumpthin' s'posed to've happened there?"

"Yes. Something." Urthfist stepped back from Fitkin and took Traveller and Major Safford aside. "What do you make of this?" he asked them in a low voice.

"This character's as ornery as shrews are s'posed t' be," Safford said. "Can't say that I think much of his hospitality. Perhaps we should teach him how to be more friendly."

Traveller shook his head. "We haven't time for such things, Saff ol' chum. Besides, we were jolly lucky to find a shrew this far west. Should cut a day or two off our march to Redwall. An' since we do need this chap to get us across the stream, I suggest we ignore his ill manners an' put him to work."

"He doesn't seem to know anything about my brother, or what's going on at Redwall," Urthfist said. There was a question for the hares in his tone.

Traveller took in the terrain around them. To north, east and south could be seen only rolling plains, broken here and there by a hillock or copse of trees. Behind them, the mountain range whose foothills they'd just skirted rose high against the western sky.

"We're still at least a good day's march from Mossflower proper, M'Lord. Two or three days to Redwall itself, an' then only if we keep up our pace. We thought your brother's horde might keep to the north of this river. They must be concentratin' their forces at Redwall and the countryside right around it. Not too surprisin' that they haven't made it down this way so far."

Major Safford seconded Traveller's opinion. "Much rather run into a rude shrew than a blightin' battalion of armed vermin, wot?"

Urthfist was still dubious. "What about refugees? If my brother's crimes at Redwall are as horrible as Browder would have us believe, there should be flocks of woodlanders fleeing that region to seek safety elsewhere. Why hasn't this shrew seen any of them?"

"Maybe things there are even worse than we'd imagined," Safford suggested. "Maybe His Bloodiness isn't letting anybeast get away."

"Or maybe," Traveller countered, "they're trying to hold out until we can get there, to help them make their stand and try to take Redwall back."

"Then we must tarry here no longer." Urthfist stepped forward and addressed Fitkin. "We must cross to the north shore. You will ferry us."

Fitkin's eyes widened slightly, and once more he surveyed the vast assemblage of hares. "All of them?"

"We are an army. I won't be leaving any of my troops behind."

"Hmm ... how many's that, exactly?"

"Eighty-one hares, plus myself."

Fitkin did some out-loud figuring. "Lessee ... my raft'll hold 'bout ten o' them beasts ... hafta take you across separate, so that'd make nine trips total ... take most o' the rest o' today, but yeah, I reckon I could do it. Whaddya got?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Whatcha got? I ain't providin' free service, y'know. I got my upkeep t' keep up. Gotta charge fer passage. So, what've you got to offer?"

The Badger Lord was aghast. "We are on a mission to aid goodbeasts who are in distress, and you ... you would seek to profit from this?"

"Your mission don't concern me. Never involve myself in no wars 'n' such, that's yer own affair. I'll give a crossin' to anybeast that's got goods t' give fer my trouble, but those who don't can build their own boat, 'cos they ain't gettin' no free rides from this shrew."

Urthfist was gritting his teeth, and a threatening rumble was starting deep in his throat. Traveller quickly ducked around in front of his master and asked Fitkin, "What would satisfy you, to get us all across? We're a military unit travelin' light, an' not carryin' much wot we can spare."

"Military, eh?" Fitkin looked thoughtful. "You must be carryin' rations, then. Food's as useful to me as anything. Nuthin' fresh, mind, I'd want vittles that'll keep fer awhile, but none o' that nasty hardtack dreck neither. Gotta have some flavor an' not taste like wood, elseways I ain't int'rested. I'd usually consider clothes too, but you big hare folk wouldn't have nuthin' that'd fit old Fitkin. Now, a nice weapon or three, that's the kind o' thing I could always use fer trade, an' you lot look to have plenty to spare ... "

"No weapons!" Urthfist roared. "We'll have need of every spear, shaft and blade when we get to Redwall, and perhaps long before then."

"Ah, but first you hafta get there, don'tcha"? Fitkin pointed out smugly. "An' that means crossin' this here stream. If you don't care fer my terms, you can always keep walkin'. There'll be another ferry shrew, in half a day's march, or a day's, or mebbe two ... who knows? Most shrews don't stick to one place like I do, so there's no tellin' fer sure."

Traveller said to Urthfist, in a soothing voice, "He can have some o' our provisions, sir. There's good foraging in Mossflower country. We only need enough to get us the rest o' the way across the Western Plains, where the pickin' tends t' be a tad slim. We need this boat, M'Lord."

Urthfist stood silently for a moment, still galled by the shrew's greed and selfishness. Finally, he forced down his rising gorge and said, "All right." But a tinge of red in his eyes betrayed that his mood was still dangerous.

"Okay, then." Fitkin rubbed his paws together as he surveyed the hares. "Eighty head, figure a day's worth o' food fer every two of 'em ... "

"Hey, wait a minute!" Major Safford protested. "You should be chargin' by number of trips, not hares. Takes so much effort to get your barge across, whether there's one beast or ten on it."

"Shows what you know, bunnydog," Fitkin sniffed derisively. "A heavier ferry's always tougher to pull. Extra work on these paws, an' that means higher toll."

Safford looked at the stream. Fitkin had set up the usual ferry-crossing arrangement, with a heavy rope tied around stumps on either shore so that the raft could be guided across the waterway just by pulling on the rope, which ran through a couple of eyelet hoops on the deck of the craft.

"Heck, our paws are a bally lot stronger'n yours," Safford said. "We'll do all the pullin' if you want. That should entitle us to a whoppin' big group discount, wot? You can even sit on the bank an' coach us from there if you want, an' not hafta get your paws wet."

"Don't mind wet paws," Fitkin said sharply, "I'm a ferry shrew. An' no lumberin' hare troop is gonna make a mess o' my livelihood. I'm steerin' each raftload across myself. You can help all you want, but the charge'll be the same."

Safford's ears flopped sideways forlornly. "Well, that hardly seems fair, chap."

"You wanna swim across, be my guest," Fitkin retorted callously.

This was too much for Urthfist. He shoved forward between Traveller and Major Safford, moving with the speed of his wrath, and hoisted Fitkin off the ground by his collar before the shrew knew what was happening. The enraged badger brought Fitkin's face nose-to-snout with his own.

"Your greed has been your undoing this day," Urthfist growled at the terrified ferrybeast. "We might have rewarded you handsomely for giving us passage, but now you shall get nothing! There are great matters upon me, and I cannot spare trouble for an insignificant and quarrelsome rudebeast. Begone!"

And with that, Urthfist hurled Fitkin through the opening of his small hovel. There was a muted crash and clatter from within as the airborn shrew collided with some of his stored possessions. Urthfist stalked over to the hut and fastened his massive paws onto the forward roof timbers. Straining with the full strength of his fury, he pulled at the edge of the roof until it gave way and collapsed down over the doorway, sealing Fitkin inside. Urthfist stood still for several moments, chest heaving from his exertion as his immediate rage subsided.

"Major!"

"Uh, yes, sir?"

"Start splitting the Patrols into groups of ten. We'll ferry ourselves across."

"Yes, sir! Um, what about our nasty friend?" Safford jerked a paw toward the collapsed hovel.

"He can dig his way out. We won't be needing him."

"As you say, M'Lord." Safford quickmarched back to the ranks and set to the task of organizing the army into groups of ten hares each. The job was completed quickly, with the help of the captains and lieutenants and the superb discipline of the Long Patrol. Urthfist glowered in silence, gazing off to the northwest across the stream, where Redwall lay.

Safford came up to Urthfist. "We're ready to get started, sir."

The Badger Lord nodded. "You and Traveller go across with the first group. I want the far banks scouted thoroughly before I send the rest over. From this point on, we must be even more vigilant to avoid walking into an ambush. My brother could have forces lying in wait anywhere between here and Redwall."

"Yes, sir ... although Traveller says there's not much by way of cover on the Plains. That should make it hard for any large group to catch us by surprise."

"It will also mean that my brother will be able to see us coming from a long way away," Urthfist reminded his commander.

"Well, we didn't throw this party, but there's not a hare who wants to miss it." Safford glanced back at Fitkin's hut. There was no sound from within, no way to know for sure whether the shrew had even survived Urthfist's abuse. "Um, occurs to me, sir, that when the last of us get across, the ferry'll be on the wrong shore for this nastychops. I mean, he'll be on one bank, an' his boat'll be on the other."

"If he wants to get his raft back so badly, then he can swim for it," Urthfist answered unsympathetically. "Now let us be underway. Redwall awaits, and so does my brother."

00000000000

Urthfist would have been very surprised to learn that his brother was in fact three days south of Redwall, and a full day south of Urthfist and his hares, although still far to the east. Even as Urthfist was arguing with Fitkin, Urthblood's forces were turning westward through the lower reaches of Mossflower on the leg of their journey that would carry them to the coast, and thence to Salamandastron.

There was a rudimentary path of sorts that wound through this region of Mossflower in the general direction of their march, but it was hardly a true road like the one they'd traveled for the previous three days. It twisted and turned beneath the forest canopy, through which the blue summer sky peeked in bits and patches. Trees grew close on either side of the trail, their roots reaching into the path and making the route an endless series of dips and rises. In many places, grass and moss and weeds grew almost all the way across the trail, causing it to virtually disappear. The progress of the army was slowed considerably that morning, for over such terrain the soldiers had to tread carefully. It would be very easy to twist an ankle or break a leg on uneven ground like this.

The narrowness of the path posed an additional dilemma. It was now impossible for the wide column to march as it had along the spacious southward road from Redwall. Urthblood ordered the troop column to be narrowed to match the trail, so that it was now only two or three beasts abreast but much longer. This formation would make them vulnerable to an attack along their flanks, but the only alternative would have been for the soldiers on either edge of the column weave in and out among the adjacent trees as they marched, which would slow the army down even more. At this point, speed was more important than defensibility, since they were not very likely to encounter Urthfist or any other formidable enemy here in the dense woodlands of lower Mossflower.

Winokur wondered whether it was the right decision. If Urthblood was sending out advanced scouts to spy the way ahead, or flanking scouts to guard against a sideways assault, the young otter wasn't aware of it. Come midmorning, however, his unspoken concern was answered.

Urthblood ordered the army to halt at a large glade, almost like a stretch of hilly meadow that had been dropped into the midst of the thick forest. Only the leading elements of the column were stopped out in the sunshine, but everybeast in sun or shade was equally grateful for this brief rest from the tiresome woodland march.

The red-armored badger climbed to the top of the nearest hillock, and there he stood for long minutes, scanning the clear sky with an unblinking gaze.

Winokur turned to his father and Captain Saybrook. "What's Lord Urthblood doin' now?"

"Just routine scouting reports," Saybrook replied. "We do this all th' time up north. Guess Lord Urthblood feels it's best to keep up th' practice here in Mossflower. Can't say I blame 'im, what with his mad brother maybe on th' prowl in these parts. Ah, here we are, now."

Winokur followed Saybrook's gaze. A large kite dropped out of the sky and landed on the tussock alongside Urthblood. Like the falcon Klystra, this bird also wore a stiff jerkin around its torso, sleeveless so that its wings could flap freely. The cut of the garment had something of an officer's rank about it, and the material looked thick enough to stop arrows loosed at a distance: uniform and armor all in one.

Saybrook shaded his eyes with a paw as he examined the raptor. "Captain Halpryn, unless I'm mistaken. 'Course, kinda hard fer us otter folk to tell our bird comrades apart. Even when they're in uniform, they all look much th' same t' me. But, yep, I'm sure that's Halpryn. She's a good one. Not a creature on legs or wings that escapes her eagle eye."

"Eagle, y' say?" Warnokur grinned, poking Saybrook playfully in the ribs. "She looks more like a kite t' me!"

"Ha! Y' got me there, ya ol' riverdog! Whoops, an' off she goes already! That didn't take long. Let's hear what she had t' say."

Urthblood descended from the hillock as Halpryn's majestically flapping form dwindled rapidly into the western sky. Several of the other captains had come forward from the standing column to listen in on this latest aerial report.

"There is no enemy force visible within a day's march of our present position," Urthblood announced to the eagerly awaiting commanders. "Captain Halpryn spotted some shrew activity to the south of our route, but that should not concern us. There is another clearing similar to this one, roughly half a day's travel ahead of us. She will meet us there this afternoon or evening with a further report. That is all. Return to your regiments; we will resume the march at once."

As the captains headed back to their places in the column, Winokur fell into step alongside Urthblood. "No sign of your brother or his hares at all, Lord?"

"Not in this part of Mossflower, or the near Plains."

"So, they could be anywhere," the novice otter mused. "Hiding under this tree cover somewhere up ahead, or already at Redwall by a different route, or still at Salamandastron, not having left there at all ... "

"Yes," Urthblood nodded, "this is true. I will try to keep alert so that we are not caught unaware."

"I hope so, My Lord. The Abbess entrusted me to be Redwall's envoy to Salamandastron, to try to stop bloodshed between you and your brother if I possibly can. A surprise ambush won't give me much chance to play peacemaker. Then again, it would be funny if your brother did go to Redwall, and we arrive at Salamandastron only to find it completely empty."

"No chance of that," Urthblood rumbled. "Even if Urthfist makes for Redwall, he would not leave the mountain unguarded, open to the searat hordes of Tratton. There are sure to be hares at Salamandastron when we arrive, not matter what my brother has done."

"I say, M'Lord," Winokur wondered as they cleared the glade and plunged back into the deep forest shadows, "do you know any of your brother's hares?"

"It has been so many seasons since I was last at Salamandastron, I could not say. Some of the older members of the Patrols may have been in service when I was Lord there, but of course they would have been fairly young then. But my brother has had long seasons to warp their minds, as we have witnessed with Hanchett. If any of them remember me at all, they may not remember me as I truly was, but as Urthfist would have them think of me. I fear things there may be very different from when I was last at Salamandastron. We will find out soon enough."


	11. Chapter 37

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Seven

"If you're not gonna finish that, chap, I'll relieve you of it."

Smallert gazed forlornly down at his mostly-full plate, then slid it over in front of Hanchett. "Help yerself. I ain't got much of an appetite these days."

"So I noticed."

It was lunchtime at Redwall. The early promise of the morning's glory had been fulfilled, giving the Abbey folk a summer's day as beautiful as any they could have wished for. The midday meal, served out on the lawns under a sky so blue that it could make the heart ache with joy to behold it, was the first generous quantity of food most of the Redwallers had enjoyed since Cyrus had been wounded. The two days of anxious waiting were forgotten, and now everybeast gave into its appetite with complete abandon. It wasn't exactly a feast that Friar Hugh prepared in celebration - that would be when Cyrus himself was recovered enough to partake of the festivities - but it came awfully close. Now that the Friar once more had the heart to put into his cooking and baking, and knew his fellow woodlanders would have an equal enthusiasm to fully enjoy his creations, he ended up preparing the biggest meal seen at Redwall since the last Nameday.

Only one beast at the Abbey was incapable of savoring the tastes of the day. The two bound prisoners, hare and weasel, sat at a small table set apart from the rest. Two foxes, caught up on their sleep, sat with them, part of the constant guard Machus had assigned. Hanchett had been granted the freedom of the Abbey, once it became obvious that even his escape skills were no match for his double-chaining to Smallert and the ever-present escort that shadowed him and Smallert everywhere they went. The Long Patrol hare's spirits had risen considerably since being allowed out of his dank cellar room. The same could not be said for his companion, however.

"Mmm, this's mighty tasty scoff, gents," Hanchett declared to his taciturn dining partners. "If they had fare like this at Salamandastron, I never woulda left."

The two guard foxes remained silent and stone-faced, scarcely acknowledging Hanchett's existence. The hare had come to expect such from them; his attempts over the past day to draw any of the swordfoxes into conversation had met with total failure.

"Bah! You're a right buncha dour ol' sticks-in-the-mud, sure 'nuff," he said lightheartedly, turning to Smallert. "Liked it better when we had shrews guardin' us. I'll take their bally fussin' an' squabblin' over this silent treatment any day, eh, weaselbottom?"

Smallert morosely twiddled his paws on the tabletop. "Don't reckon it makes no never mind t' me, Mr. Hare, sir. I just do what they tells me."

"Well, they haven't told you to jolly well starve yourself," Hanchett told him. "You've got to eat something, chap. Otherwise, you'll waste away t' nothing."

"Wot would it matter? Only reason I'm still alive is to weigh you down. Once ye're freed, I'm a deadbeast. Any o' this fare that goes inside me now's just a waste of good food."

"Well, that's a right poor attitude! Listen, I'm a soldier, an' any day could be my last. But I won't let the idea that I might be dead tomorrow keep me from enjoyin' wot I got today. An' neither should you. So buck up, Smalley, an' taste this scoff the way it's meant to be tasted! Nothin' to do 'bout tomorrow, 'cept let it take care of itself."

Smallert made no move to follow the hare's friendly advice.

Hanchett started to grow exasperated in spite of himself. "I just don't get it. That mouse lad's awake an' gettin' better, the whole Abbey's in a state of celebration, an' their Friar's uncorked a top hole meal worthy of ten battle victories. And you just sit there feelin' sorry for yourself. Ever occur to you that maybe these folk don't like lookin' at your sour puss any more'n I do? So give a smile an' join the feast. You of all beasts should be happy that mousechild's gonna be okay."

"Oh, I am, I am," Smallert said without the trace of a smile. "But seein' as how I'm the one who caused him that hurt in th' first place, I'd say I don't deserve to be sharin' in their joy. I'm not sayin' that 'cos of wot's gonna happen to me, that's the punishment I got comin' to me fair 'n' square, fer hurtin' that lad an' slayin' one o' me own mates. But bein' happy ... after wot I done, I got no right bein' happy. That's fer good an' decent folk like these, an' I ain't neither good nor decent."

"Oh, come, come!" Hanchett protested. He'd spent enough time with the weasel during the past two days to assess the creature for himself, with the superb character judgement of a Long Patrol hare, and he'd come to the reluctant conclusion that Smallert really wasn't all that bad, at least not for a vermin. Smallert seemed genuinely remorseful over his actions, unafraid of the death that was almost surely coming to him, and not at all like the cowardly evil beasts Hanchett had expected to find in Urthblood's service. Under different circumstances, the two of them might almost have become friends, were their species not sworn enemies of one another.

"Way I heard it," Hanchett went on, "t'was a blackhearted rat who's mostly to blame for wot happened. You, you've got more bally decency in your scraggly tail than he prob'ly had in his whole mangy body. These folk can tell when a beast's got goodness in it, an so can I. And you, my weaselly ball 'n' chain, have most definitely got a good heart, much as it pains me t' say such a thing 'bout any vermin."

"Even if ye're right," Smallert said, "it don't do me much good."

"Aw, now you're just wallowin' in blinkin' self-pity!"

"Uh, well ... yeah, I guess I am. But at least that's sumpthin." A trace of a smile began to lift the corners of Smallert's mouth.

"Well, here's something else." Hanchett chose the fox guard whose plate was fuller, snatched it away and placed it before Smallert. "If you can crack a joke at yerself, then you can jolly well enjoy some scoff. So dive in, chappie, an' let that brushtail go get another plate for himself."

The fox who'd been relieved of his lunch sat impassive as Hanchett and Smallert tucked into the fine Redwall food. Casually pawing the hilt of his sword, he intoned, "There are quick deaths, and then there are slow ones. And we're the ones who'll decide which you'll get when your time comes."

Smallert paused in mid-chew, a stricken look on his face. It quickly vanished at a flop-eared nod from his hare companion.

"Yeah, well, that day's not today, mate. So stop tryin' t' spoil my meal!"

00000000000

Away on another part of the Abbey grounds, Brother Geoff sat with Aryln on some old red sandstone blocks, the discards from some Abbey project of an earlier generation. Now smoothed by seasons of wind and rain, they made perfect little benches near the east wall.

Geoff brushed his whiskers free of crumbs from the blueberry tart he was enjoying. Looking up at the sky, he sighed. "Ahh, just knowing that Cyrus is going to be fine makes the whole world seem brighter somehow. The blue sky, the green grass, the golden sunshine, the cozy red glow of our beloved Abbey ... not to mention the cool shimmer of the pond, the inviting shade of the orchard, or the delicious taste of Friar Hugh's blueberry treats." He pasued to take another bite of his pastry. "Why, I could write a poem about this day!"

Old Arlyn chuckled. "I think you just did."

"What? Oh, that?" Geoff smiled and shook his head. "That wasn't poetry. That was just me rambling on, as I tend to do sometimes."

"Don't sell yourself short, Geoffrey. Some of the best poetry comes from souls who are 'just rambling on,' speaking plainly what's in their hearts."

"Well, I'll leave it to them, then. I was never all that clever with verse or rhyme, as Brother Trevor could have told you from my school days. I just wasn't cut out to be a poet, as much as I wish I were, sometimes."

A youthful singsong chanting reached their ears. Young Droge went skipping by, ignoring the two mice as his mind was intent on play. He was singing an old bit of Redwall nonsense, a children's verse known as the Sea Song. The words drifted over to Geoff and Arlyn as Droge passed near them:

"The sea, o hi! The sea

The sea along the shore

Brother Sea, fine Brother Sea

Sail creatures from your door ... "

The hogchild started the simple verse anew as he bounded away to join some of his playmates in a merry game of tag on the now vermin-free lawns.

Arlyn laughed. "Well, there's poetry and there's poetry! I suspect even you could compose a snatch of buffoonery like that."

But Geoff had gone slack-jawed at the sound of those words, and sat staring after Droge as if in a daze. "I know that poem ... "

"As well you should," Arlyn said. "You sang it quite a lot when you were a young one. So did I, come to think of it. That silly little ditty's been around a lot longer than even I have."

"No ... no, that's not it," Geoff murmured. "It's not a song I'm thinking of, but a poem. Something I read recently, I think ... but the words were wrong."

"Well, there are several different versions," Arlyn offered helpfully. "Some of them are even sillier and more nonsensical than the one Droge was just singing."

"No, no, I'm talking about something completely different. The words sound the same, but they're ... different. Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

The old Abbot looked at the recorder mouse, at a loss. "No, I'm quite afraid I don't."

Abruptly, Geoff stood and headed for the Abbey. "It was something in the archives. I'm sure of it. And I think it may be the answer to the puzzle we've been trying to solve."

00000000000

That evening, Urthblood halted his marchers for the night at the second clearing. Halpryn the kite captain was waiting there for them, and once more she reported directly to the Badger Lord alone before flying off into the setting sun.

"Still no sign of my brother, or any other enemy," Urthblood announced to his ground captains. "The forest thins out a half-day's march ahead, and after that the going should become much easier. We will resume normal marching formation as soon as the terrain permits. As the woodlands yield to the open Plains, our path will converge with the river we crossed at Lorr's Bridge, which meanders south at that point. We can follow the stream's course to the foothills, then swing below the southern end of the range and thence on to the coastlands."

"But, won't we hafta cross that broadstream again to get to Salamandastron?" Saybrook asked. "That might be some trick, unless that Lorr beastie was nice enuff t' build another bridge fer us right where we need it, just like th' last one."

Urthblood shook his head. "That won't be necessary. The river disappears under the mountains. We will be heading south by then, to skirt the range. Where the stream emerges from its underground course by the coast, it is wide and shallow. Our shrews and moles might have to cross on the shoulders of some of the taller beasts, but the rest of us should be able to ford it without need of any boat or bridge."

"If'n that's th' case," said Bremo, captain of the shrews, "me 'n' my boys'll buddy up with Saybrook's otters. They've piggybacked us afore, with good results. Don't know what the mice 'n' moles're gonna do t' get theirselves across't."

"Don't sell us short, matey," Saybrook told Bremo. "We riverdogs got wide shoulders. No reason we can't carry a shrew on one side an' a mole on the other. We'll get both squads across in a single trip, jus' see if we don't."

"Oh, great," Abellon sighed. "Which leaves us mice with the vermin ... as usual. I hope we get a chance for another wash before then. I don't relish riding on the back of some stinky weasel." The mouse captain winked at his weasel counterpart. "No offense, Mattoon."

"None taken," Mattoon grinned backed with a fang-filled smile that wasn't entirely unfriendly, just somewhat so. "An' it's you mice whose stinky footpaws'll be dangling 'neath our pore noses, so you ain't the only beast hopin' we can bathe 'fore then."

Winokur looked to Urthblood. "Don't suppose you'll be doing any ferry duty yourself, My Lord?"

"Not very likely." The badger motioned to his commanders. "Set up camp in a ring formation around the edges of the clearing. Weasels, rats and otters on the perimeter, smaller creatures inside. Captain Halpryn says there are no enemies in sight, but I am taking no chances. The thick canopy of Mossflower could hide much that a high-flying bird would not see. Post sentries ... the usual rotation."

The captains went off to obey. The low sun still peeked through the trees in spots, but the day's progress along the forest trail had taken a lot out of the marchers, and there wasn't a soldier among them who didn't welcome the early halt. Another half-day of such perilous, step-by-step travel lay ahead, and every extra moment off their feet was a blessing to the weary creatures of Urthblood's army.

00000000000

What Urthblood's troops gained in their early retirement, they made up for the next morning when they were roused long before sunrise. The barest hint of the coming dawn was in the eastern sky when Urthblood ordered the current shift of watchbeasts to put out the wake-up call through the sleeping ranks.

The shrew and rat cooks started to clear ground for their cookfires, but Urthblood commanded that no fires be lit. They were too close to the forest edge, he explained, and the smoke from any fires might be visible from the Plains. Until he got a morning report from Halpryn or one of his other winged lookouts, he did not wish to do anything to advertise their presence. The smoke columns from so many cooking fires would not only betray their position but would also allow any astute observer to guess the size of their company.

Even among troops as disciplined as these, this order was greeted with much grumbling. Most of them were in the habit of starting off their day with hot food provided by the skilled cookbeasts of the force. Of course, there had been many mornings in the Northlands that had begun with cold hardscrabble rations, but this was Mossflower, land of plenty. Things were supposed to be different here ... as their stay at Redwall had clearly proven.

Warnokur settled down next to Saybrook, leaning against a mossy log. "Well, Cap'n, you shore was right 'bout our Abbey rations not lastin' past th' second day o' this stroll. Pity ... I shore could go fer some o' that right 'bout now."

"You ain't the only one, Warny," Saybrook grinned. "Some o' th' troops are 'bout ready to stage a revolt."

Winokur, sitting on the other side of his father, leaned forward to look at the otter captain in alarm. "No! They're not, really ... are they?"

"Easy, son!" Saybrook said. "Just joshin'. Nobeast here'd have th' bad sense t' go 'gainst Lord Urthblood. Not over a cold breakfast, or naught else. Relax ... "

Warnokur struggled valiently with a hardtack biscuit; it was a losing battle. "Aargh! These're 'nuff to break all a beast's teeth clean off! If I hadta eat like this all th' time, reckon I'd be as nasty a rudebeast as any vermin ever was!"

"Well, some relief may be on th' way, friends," Saybrook told them. "No promises, but some o' the shrews an' rats are doin' a little foraging in th' woods right around this glade. If anybeast can rustle up some decent grub, they can. If they have th' chance, that is. Lord Urthblood's pretty eager to get a move on, an' he's not one to sit around waitin' on us t' get our bellies full."

"Shame there's no lake or stream hereabouts," Warnokur lamented. "We'd be able t' rustle up some fish 'n' shrimp to make at least a halfway decent start on breakfast."

"Hafta be raw fish an' shrimp," Saybrook reminded him, "since we can't light any fires. That might be fine fer us otters, matey, but I doubt most folks would share our taste fer fish first thing in th' morn."

Warnokur gazed mournfully at his half-eaten biscuit. "Well, it shore as sawdust would beat wot we got now, paws down. Come t' think of it, sawdust prob'ly would, too."

00000000000

Meanwhile, on the southern edge of the encampment, two of the rats who'd been out foraging broke noisily through the shrubbery to rejoin their fellows. They went straightaway to their captain Cermak. After hearing their excited report for a minute, Cermak led them over to Urthblood.

"My Lord, something to bring to yer attention."

Urthblood studied his rat captain and the two foragers. "Go on."

"These two were scrounging 'bout in the woods just south o' the glade, an' they noticed they was bein' watched. Don't know what kinda beast, or how many. Stayed hid in the forest undergrowth, an' beat a hasty retreat when me rats went after 'em. Small an' quick, wotever they was."

The badger warrior mulled this over. "Probably just some local woodlander, curious to see armed rats in this part of Mossflower and eager to avoid any confrontation. I hope you didn't scare it - or them - too badly when you gave chase."

One of the rats piped in, "M'Lord, we're sure there was more'n one. An' th' way they withdrew, it were too organized t' be plain ol' folks. Almost military like."

"Could they have been hares?" Urthblood asked pointedly.

The two forager rats exchanged glances, then the speaker answered. "Don't think so, sir. Seemed like t'were too small. Can't be sure, o' course, but I'd say more like mouse-sized."

"Well, whatever they were, we will have to leave them behind," Urthblood decided. "We don't have time to track them down to explain ourselves, make them explain themselves, or correct any bad impression we may have made. That will have to wait until our paths cross again, if ever they do."


	12. Chapter 38

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Eight

The new day's march took the army of Northlanders once more into the deep woods of lower Mossflower. If anything, the trail twisted and turned even more than before, hindering the marchers' progress. The edge of the Western Plains may have been a mere half-day distant, but the forest gave no hint of any change in the landscape that lay ahead. Far from thinning out, the trees and undergrowth grew even denser, as if they knew their territory would soon reach an end and they wanted to pour forth all their energies into one last stand against the open Plains. The morning mists lay thick against the forest floor, wreathing the trunks and branches in their damp, clinging blanket. Little of the morning sun penetrated the leafy layers overhead, and even the usual insect noises and birdsong seemed dull and muted in this region of shadows.

"Egads!" Warnokur murmured as he and Winokur marched along at the head of the much-narrowed column. "As if gettin' underway without a decent breakfast wasn't bad enough, now ol' Mr. Forest has gone an' swallowed up Mr. Sun!"

"Could be worse," Saybrook said from behind them. "At least there's some good wet in the air here. Try strollin' yer flippers around in the wastelands north o' Mossflower. Dry as bones, an' not so much as a puddle fer three day's journey. I'll take a cool, misty summer forest any day. An' tomorrow we should be back at the river's edge. Get in some more good swimmin' then."

"I'll be looking forward to - "

"Logalogalogalog!"

The shrill voices of many creatures, chanting a united war cry, suddenly shattered the subdued calm of the morning. Captain Saybrook, javelin clutched tight in one paw and loaded sling in the other, threw his alert gaze this way and that as others in the column reached for their own weapons. "What the sludge was that?"

"Friends, I think," Winokur replied. "I hope. I know that call ... "

"Me too," said Warnokur. "'Cept they don't sound very friendly just now."

All along the southern edge of the trail, a phantom army was emerging from the forest growth. Scores of beasts, perhaps hundreds, swiftly converged on the now-halted column. But if they'd hoped to catch the Northlanders off guard, they were bound to be disappointed. The moment of warning was all Urthblood's soldiers needed to draw their weapons and assume battle stances.

Saybrook scanned their would-be ambushers, lined up along the path edge with shortswords brandished threateningly. "Blimy! They're shrews!"

Urthblood had unsheathed his mighty broadsword at the first sign of attack, but now he held it lowered at his side upon seeing the identity of the newcomers. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Why have you stopped us?"

One of the shrews yelled out, "Y' got vermin in yer troop! Why?"

"They are part of my forces, and more than that I do not have to explain, until you do some explaining of your own."

The shrew snarled. "No vermin will leave this forest alive!"

Urthblood leveled his sword at the shrew strangers. "Mine will. I have no desire to slay goodbeasts, if you be such, but I will do so if you press an attack on us. I am Urthblood, Lord of Salamandastron, on an errand of great importance. I seek only to pass through these woods. Your matters are of no concern to me. But if you think to interfere with my mission, I will not hesitate to destroy you."

"Guess again, stripedog. We got you surrounded. Won't be us that gets destroyed."

For several tense moments no word was spoken, no move made, as the two armies stood locked in their hair-trigger standoff in the forest gloom. For most of the way back along the column, Urthblood's soldiers found themselves squared off against a skirmish line of grim-faced, fiery-eyed shrew fighters. Any misstep or false move could unleash a bloodbath. And both sides would certainly suffer heavily in such an event, no matter which was victorious.

"This is bonkers," Winokur muttered in disgust, then sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward. ""Redwaalll!" he bellowed. "Redwall, I say!"

The shrew chief threw his gaze the otter's way. "What beast is it that gives the Redwall cry?"

"Winokur by name, and an Abbey novice by my habit," the young otter said, puffing out his chest. "And since when does the Log-a-Log of the Guosim waylay innocent travelers?"

The head shrew narrowed his eyes. "Wink lad? An' yer Pappy Warnokur too? What in blazes are you doin' in this mixed-up convoy?"

"Trying to stop a war. And tho' this wasn't the one I had in mind, I guess I could use a practice run. Now, please lower your blades before somebeast gets hurt."

Urthblood lowered his sword and looked at the two Redwallers. "These are the Guosim?"

"Aye, M'Lord," Warnokur nodded, "the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. Old friends an' allies of ours. Spend their winters at Redwall an' the warmer months wanderin' far 'n' wide throughout Mossflower. Wouldn't 'ave expected to run into 'em this far south, but they go where they will."

"That we do." Although the shrew Winokur had address as Log-a-Log had relaxed his stance somewhat, he still held his shortsword at the ready. And his fellow shrews continued to maintain their battle footing, weapons raised. "An' now that we've been introduced, p'raps somebeast can explain what this train o' vermin's doin' in our neck o' the woods?"

Winokur came forward toward Log-a-Log. "Like Lord Urthblood said, we're on a mission to the coastlands. Salamandastron, to be exact. We're not looking for any trouble, and I'm sure you don't want any either, so let's just put all our weapons down, okay?"

Log-a-Log shook his head. "I still don't unnerstand. I see a badger an' otters, but I also see weasels, an' I know you got rats 'cos we been watchin' you all morn. If'n they ain't yer prisoners, an' you ain't theirs, then what gives?"

"Um, well ... " Winokur stroked at his whiskers, as he had seen Brother Geoff and Abbot Arlyn do many times, hoping it would make him look more thoughtful and mature. Even friendly shrews tended to be argumentative, and Winokur knew the Guosim had no love for rats and other vermin. It would be a tall order, trying to make them understand that old enemies were now allies.

"It's like this, you see. These troops are all from way up in the Northlands, far from Mossflower, and up there, vermin and woodlanders get along together. That's why Lord Urthblood has both in his army."

"Oh? Then, what're you doin' with 'em?"

"They stopped at Redwall on their way south," Winokur explained. "Lord Urthblood has been given a prophecy of great doom, that could affect the fate of all the lands. He came to the Abbey to warn us and to help strengthen our defenses. But it turns out his brother Urthfist might have come to view Urthblood as an enemy, and be mobilizing the forces of Salamandastron against him. Abbess Vanessa has sent me along to act as Redwall's envoy and mediator, to try to head off any conflict before it comes to open war."

"So this stripedog's a friend? An' his vermin too?" Log-a-Log's voice held suspicious disbelief.

"Would my Dad and I be marching with enemies?"

"No. No, I reckon not ... "

"Then let us be on our way," Urthblood commanded of Log-a-Log. "I have no time to tarry here. Lower your weapons, and we will be gone from here."

The shrew chieftain returned Urthblood's steely gaze, his jaw set stubbornly. "Lower my weapons? Not with armed vermin pointin' their swords at us, I won't. These're our woods. Show us ye're as friendly as ye claim, an' then mebbe we'll consider it."

"It was you who were the aggressor," Urthblood reminded Log-a-Log. "I will not put my forces at ease while they are under threat of drawn weapons. We were merely marching, causing harm to nobeast, when you ambushed us."

"Ambushed you? Stripey, if we'd really meant to ambush you, ye'd all be layin' slain right now."

"I tend to doubt that. Your bravura is impressive, but you could stand some improvement in your hospitality toward strangers."

The Badger Lord's imperious attitude did little to improve Log-a-Log's dangerous mood. "Oh, yeah? Well, there's strangers, an' then there's armed vermin. You got beasts here who ain't welcome in Mossflower."

"In the Northlands, I have slain many creatures who thought they could tell me where I could and could not walk."

"This ain't the Northlands, you big red oaf. Try us, if you want this day to be yer last!"

It was at that moment that Winokur - aggravated by Urthblood's stubbornness and Log-a-Log's aggressiveness, and terrified that the situation could lead to bloodshed at any moment - discovered he could bellow almost as loud as any badger. Stepping halfway between them, he held up a paw toward each of them and shouted, even more loudly than he'd given the Redwall cry earlier.

"STOP!"

The arguing between badger and shrew ceased immediately, and both stood staring at the young otter.

"Everybeast, on both sides!" Winokur yelled, invoking the tones of command he'd heard Montybank use many times. "Take three steps backward, away from the line of confrontation, and sheath your weapons. Right! Now!"

The two leaderbeasts regarded him for some moments. Then Urthblood spoke.

"A sound plan. I will agree to it, if these shrews do."

Winokur looked at Log-a-Log. "Well?"

The shrew scowled. "How d'we know we can trust 'em all?"

"My soldiers obey when I command them," said Urthblood. "Do yours?"

Log-a-Log gave Urthblood an acid glare.

"Log-a-Log of the Guosim!" Winokur intoned. "Do you recognize the authority of Redwall, whose sanctuary you enjoy every winter and whose Abbess you swear loyalty and obedience?"

"Uh, yeah, but - "

"Then do as I say, old friend! Step back and lower your swords!"

Log-a-Log's mouth worked wordlessly as his scowl deepened. But at length he turned to his second-in-command. "Flink, pass the word along the line. Three steps back, and swords down."

"Y' sure 'bout this, sir?"

"Give the order, Flink!"

"Uh, aye, sir." Flink barked the command to the nearest of the shrews. The same order was already well on its way down Urthblood's column, and the Northlanders were standing ready to make their token retreat as soon as the shrews did likewise.

"Anytime," Urthblood prompted.

"Might as well start here, and let the separation work its way down the line," Winokur said. "Perhaps on the count of three ... "

"Not necessary." Urthblood raised his voice. "Column! Fall back!" The Badger Lord followed his own order, taking three long strides back from the line of shrews even as his troops did the same. Log-a-Log, not to be outdone, took his three shorter shrew steps backwards, and immediately all the rest of the Guosim followed his example.

Winokur and Warnokur stood in the middle of the path, gazing back the way the army had come. For as far as they could see, the fighters on both sides parted, leaving the heart of the trail empty. It was like some bizarre slow-motion dance, snaking its way gradually toward the rear of the column. And as the two sides drew apart, blades and slings and clubs and spears came down, sliding into scabbard or harness or driven into the ground. The Redwall otters had a view about a hundred beasts back along the column, before it vanished around a bend in the trail.

The tension of the situation seemed to have been defused, at least here at the head of the column. Enough of a gap separated Urthblood's ranks from the Guosim so that there would be little chance of accidental bloodshed. Warnokur looked at his son, quite impressed. "Seasons o' shrimp, Wink lad! If'n you can do that, then jus' mebbe you can stop a war 'tween these two badgers after all!"

"Guess you never know wot ye're made of 'til ye're put to th' test," Winokur said, slipping momentarily back into otter lingo. "But this isn't settled yet. Let's get those two together out here in the middle of the path, so they can have a more cool-headed chat and work out their differences like proper goodbeasts."

With the urging of the two Redwallers, Urthblood and Log-a-Log were soon standing face to face in out in the path, while the two armies looked on.

The shrew chief appraised his counterpart with a long gaze. "So, ye're a Lord of that Salamandastron place. Never met one of 'em afore. What're you doin' with all these northerners?"

"For many seasons I have followed a prophecy of great fate, and it has taken me far and wide throughout the lands. I raised this army in the north as a strategy to meet this crisis that my vision foretells. And I am always open to new alliances with any goodbeasts who would join my cause."

"But, didn't Wink jus' say ye're on yer way to hash it out with yer brother? What's that about?"

"There are signs that my brother Urthfist may have fallen to evil or misguided ways during my absence from Salamandastron. If he has become unfit to rule the mountain and needs to be removed from the throne, it could come to war between us."

"A Badger Lord gone bad?" Log-a-Log gave a low whistle. "I heard stories 'bout what you badgerfolk can do when you get yer dander up, an' I can't say I care fer th' ntion o' such a beast in the service of evil. Then 'gain, never thought I'd see a Badger Lord wi' so many vermin in 'is train. But if young Wink sez ye're okay, I guess I gotta berlieve 'im."

"So, may we pass unmolested?" Urthblood asked. "Now that you know my purpose, you must understand that I cannot tarry here any more than I already have."

"Hold a moment, My Lord," Winokur held up a paw. "There's more going on here than just a simple misunderstanding. I know these shrews well, and they are goodbeasts, even if they are a little scrappy. And they never would have attacked us like this under normal circumstances, even with vermin in our troop. These beasts are allies of Redwall, and if they need our help with anything, we should hear them out." The young otter turned to Log-a-Log. "What's going on here, old friend?"

The shrew leader looked at Winokur in a new light, surprised at the air of authority the youngbeast had assumed in his current role. "It's ... it's slavers," Log-a-Log said. "They've taken scores of the smaller beasts, mostly shrews, from this part of Mossflower. Including my son Pirkko."

The two Redwall otters were aghast. "No!" Warnokur exploded. "Not dear liddle Pirkko!"

Log-a-Log hung his head. "Aye. T'was to be the scamp's first full summer of wanderin' with us as a full member of the Guosim. I shoulda left him at Redwall. Now, he's gone!"

Winokur and Warnokur stepped forward and offered consoling hugs and pats to the shrew. They both knew Pirkko very well from the time of his childhood at the Abbey where he'd been raised; Pirkko was every bit as much a Redwaller as Winokur was.

"T'weren't yer fault," Warnokur assured their old friend. "Them vile villains are t' blame, an' no mistake!"

"Lots of youngbeasts have been stolen from their parents by this slaver scum, and some who tried to stop 'em have paid with their lives. The only way t' get my son back is for th' full force of the Guosim to hunt them down." Log-a-Log cast his gaze toward Urthblood. "An' if we can get some help from these stout fightin' beasts, all the better."

"Slavers are an especially loathesome species of villain," Urthblood said, "and one I despise above all others. In the Northlands, I have put many of them in their graves. But I cannot involve my forces in a chase which might take days, or longer, as much as I would like to. I am sorry."

"With all due respect, My Lord," Winokur protested, "this is probably just a small band of slavers causing this trouble. I bet we could track them down and dispatch them in just a day or two."

"Two days is what it's been since Pirkko got snatched," Log-a-Log said. "They can't have gotten far, but if we don't catch up with 'em soon, we may never get that li'l rapscallion back. Time's of the essence. Only reason we came your way at all is 'cos we saw you had rats in yer force, an' thought you might've been the enemy we were after, even though our reports said th' slavers were foxes."

Urthblood levelled a gaze at Winokur. "You yourself are under no obligation to accompany us all the way to Salamandastron, and are free to remain here to help the Guosim if that is your choice. But I will not be delayed. Whatever trouble your friends - "

The badger warrior was interrupted by the sound of distant shouts and cries from farther back in the column. Nothing could be seen, but the noises that reached them through the forest were nearly those of full- throated battle.

"What in the name of swampmuck is that?" Log-a-Log craned his short neck in the direction of the ruckus.

Two shrews came bustling through the trees, excited and out of breath. "Log-a-Log! That suethead Snoga wouldn't back away when the order reached him," one reported. "He led an attack on the rats!"

Urthblood and Log-a-Log traded grim glances.

"I would strongly suggest," the Badger Lord said to the shrew chieftain, "that the two of us proceed there at once and put an end to this right now."

"For once, badger, we are in total agreement. Oh, that stupid Snoga! Let's get a move on, before there's a bloodbath!"

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Log-a-Log gritted his teeth as he stood watching the Guosim corpses being stacked at the foot of an ancient oak. To Urthblood he said accusingly, "Didn't yer rats realize we were tryin' to work out a truce?"

"I see seven dead shrews, not seventy," Urthblood replied coolly. "Considering that it was your side that violated the truce, I would say my soldiers demonstrated admirable restraint."

Log-a-Log clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay silent. He knew Urthblood was right, and nothing would be gained by further argument.

Urthblood looked to his own ranks. "I see the renegades among your shrews slew three of Captain Cermak's rats. That is not easily done. The attack must have caught them quite off guard."

"Not necessarily," Winokur said. He and his father stood squarely between the badger's forces and the Guosim to help keep them safely separated, although it now seemed unlikely that hostilities would flare up again. Each side had gotten a taste of what the other could do, and nobeast present was eager to add more casualties to the ten who already lay dead.

"Yeah, don't sell the Guosim short, M'Lord," Warnokur agreed with his son. "They may just be shrews, but they can battle with th' best of fightin' beasts. Don't reckon they'd need total surprise t' do what they did here."

"Tell me of this renegade who caused this," Urthblood said to Log-a-Log.

"Snoga?" Log-a-Log snorted. "A real troublemaker, that 'un. Been challenging my leadership all season, without ever makin' it a formal challenge, o' course. Too spineless fer that. But 'ee won't follow any order without arguin' it first."

"Sounds like a real rotter," Warnokur opined. "Where's th' blighter now?"

Log-a-Log stood with paws clenched angrily at his side as he surveyed the carnage. "Not among the dead, though by all rights he oughtta be. You, Molk! Tell me how this happened!"

The dazed shrew Molk sat nursing a shoulder wound he'd suffered in the altercation. "Snoga told us these were th' slavers! He ordered us to attack!"

"I gave orders to disengage!"

"Snoga said they was bad orders! He said you'd been fooled, or mebbe killed, an' we hadta act fer ourselves! These vermin was gonna try an' surround us 'n' take us by surprise, so we hadta attack first!"

"Sounds like that rottenguts told you everything but the truth," the shrew chief snorted.

"How was we t' know we could trust vermin? By fang, Log-a-Log, these rats fought like demons! We thought they was gonna kill us all!"

"Lucky fer you, this badger's got 'em well-trained. So, what, you charged these beasts as they were lowerin' their weapons?"

"T'weren't lowerin' nothin'!" Molk protested. "I swear, they was gettin' ready to attack!"

The rat captain Cermak stood near Urthblood. "We was waitin' to pull back, M'Lord," Cermak told his master, "but these shrews opposite us were all fidgety an' riled up. One of 'em was eggin' th' rest on, sayin' how they hadta ignore stupid orders an' attack. We only slew as many as we hadta to hold off the assault, Lord. When they broke an' ran, we didn't pursue. Didn't think you'd approve."

"You did well, Captain," Urthblood said. "These shrews are potential allies. It is unfortunate that any at all had to die, but they pressed the matter. You were left no choice but to defend yourselves."

"And what about the shrew that caused all this?" Log-a-Log demanded of Molk. "Where did Snoga go?"

"I dunno. Things were confusin' in the thick of th' battle. I guess he led the retreat ... "

"That figgers. Snoga's real good at startin' trouble an' then leavin' it to others to get it sorted out." Log-a-Log glanced around. "Looks like he took most of his gang of troublemakers with him ... those that're still drawin' breath."

He looked to Urthblood. "Sorry this all hadta happen. Helluva way to start out a friendship."

"Yes, it was most unfortunate," Urthblood agreed. "But it could have been much worse."

"Well, what do we do now?" Winokur asked the two leader beasts, turning away from the bodies of the slain. This was the young otter's first sight of battle deaths, and he didn't care for the experience at all.

"We bury our dead," Urthblood announced simply.


	13. Chapter 39

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty-Nine

It turned out that the Northlanders and the Guosim shared common customs in the burial of their war dead. Both believed that the best way to honor their fellow warriors was to bury them where they had fallen, on the site of their battle, whenever possible. And so, with a large crew of rats and an equally large crew of shrews on paw, the graves were quickly dug. Cermak laid his three rats to rest where they'd stood their ground along the north side of the path, while Snoga's unlucky followers were interred in seven smaller graves just across the trail from the rats. There would be no monuments or plaques, no stone cairns to mark this spur-of-the-moment cemetary; the placement of the bodies would be memorial enough, and the dead would require no further reminder of what had happened here.

Log-a-Log heaved a sigh as the last of the dark earth was packed down over the shrew graves. "Those poor fools prob'ly didn't deserve even this much. Hardly fittin' fer the way they died."

"Would you have left them lying in the woods for scavengers to pick their bones clean?" Urthblood asked the shrew leader.

"Don't think I wasn't tempted. They really didn't represent the Guosim, Lord, provokin' bloodshed in direct defiance of their Log-a-Log's orders. I'd like to ferget the whole incident an' start us off on a fresh footin', if you'd be able to put it behind us too."

"I agree," Urthblood nodded. "It would be folly for us to become enemies over this, when there are slavers and other truly evil creatures abroad in these lands."

Warnokur cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem ... speakin' of slavers, M'Lord, wot's to do about these scummers who've got Log-a-Log junior? I'm volunteerin' my services to lead a search party t' help our Guosim pals here. But if we're goin' after 'em, we'd better get our tails movin' now."

The badger warrior rested his massive paw on his sword hilt. "I can no sooner abandon or delay my journey to Salamandastron than this good shrew can turn away from his son to come with us. Perhaps one day we will march and fight alongside each other, but that day is not now. If it is your desire to aide your friends, I will release you from my service to do so. But I can spare no other soldiers from my own mission. You and your son must decide whether this is where you will part ways with my company."

"Oh." Warnokur looked to his son. "What do you say, Wink? You're Redwall's official envoy here. I'll go by your decision."

Winokur was thrown into a quandary. He knew the Guosim's chase after the slavers could take many days, and if he joined it, he would have no real hope of catching up with Urthblood's army before they reached Salamandastron. He must chose one quest or the other. But which was more important: to try to stop a war that could kill hundreds, or to help rescue a fellow Redwaller who was in the clutches of slavers?

"I ... I don't know," he stammered. "I feel like I'm needed both places. If only there were two of me ... "

"Well, there ain't, Wink lad, and time's a-wastin'!" Log-a-Log turned to the rest of the Guosim and gave the move-out signal. "We're headin' south now, after our stolen brothers an' sisters. If'n you're comin, you'll be at our heels instead o' standin' here."

Winokur was at a total loss. "You move along, Log-a-Log. I need a minute more to ponder this."

"A minute is all I can give you," Urthblood told the two Redwall otters. "We will be underway ourselves within that time."

Log-a-Log was already leading his shrews away from the trail, but before he'd taken two steps the shrubbery in front of him exploded and a large shrew wearing a rust-colored headband emerged to stand squarely before the shrew leader, exuding an obvious air of self-importance.

"So there you are, Snoga!" Log-a-Log snarled. "Seein' as how you weren't among the dead, I was hopin' you'd run away, never to show yer face in the Guosim again. Now that you've come back, you 'n' me are gonna have it out!"

"Shut yer gob, bossywhiskers!" Snoga spat back. "While you been standin' here makin' nice with dirty rats, I been out provin' why I oughta be head o' this outfit!"

"Oh yeah? Strikes me you simply ran away from the fight you started, like the filthy coward you are."

"Excuse me," Urthblood stepped forward, "but would you be the same Snoga who ordered an attack upon my forces?"

The ill-mannered shrew looked up at the great armored badger towering over him. "They was rats! If ye're fool 'nuff t' have 'em in yer service, then ye're due fer any trouble you get!"

"Nevertheless, they are my troops, and my responsibilty. Perhaps you could explain something to me ... "

"Don't gotta explain nuthin' to you!"

Urthblood continued as if he hadn't heard. "Perhaps you could explain why I shouldn't have your head on a pike."

Snoga sputtered, red in the face. "Wha .. wha .. you can't talk to me like that!"

"You'll find I can do far more than talk. Captain Cermak!"

Nearly fifty rat swords came up as one, all of them pointed at Snoga. Cermak himself snatched up a wickedly-curved pike that could also be used as a long-handled axe, and strode forward to stand beside his badger master. "Shall I, M'Lord?" he asked eagerly, pawing at the pole with undisguised anticipation.

Urthblood raised a paw. "Hold a moment, Captain." He bore a gaze at Snoga. "Perhaps this shrew has an explanation for us after all."

"Uh, uh ... they attacked first!" Snoga accused, pointing at Cermak.

Captain Saybrook quickly stepped forward and put a paw around Snoga's shoulder. Speaking low, he said to the shrew, "Listen up, matey. This badger's got the gift of prophecy, an' can tell when a beast ain't bein' truthful, just by lookin' into its eyes. So take my advice an' walk away ... right ... now!"

Snoga shrugged off the otter's flipper. "These're my woods, an' I don't gotta walk nowheres! Not from you," he stuck his chin out at Urthblood, then turned to Log-a-Log, "or you!"

The shrew chieftain was surprised in spite of himself. "After what you did here, what makes you think you can act so high 'n' mighty?"

Snoga spun at the sound of shrubbery parting behind him and pointed defiantly. "That does!"

Four of Snoga's followers staggered out from the underbrush, bearing between them the lifeless form of a large fox. Its head lolled from side to side as they carried it, and a shrew shortsword stuck out of its back.

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"I should be made Log-a-Log now!" Snoga yelled triumphantly into the amazed silence that followed. "I'm the only one of us who's been able to actually capture one o' these slavers that've been preying on us. That's the kind of leader the Guosim need right now!"

Winokur whispered to his father, "Do you really suppose that is one of the slavers that have taken Pirkko?"

"If it is, he ain't tellin' us now," Warnokur muttered.

Urthblood stepped forward to more closely examine the corpse as the carrier shrews laid it as tribute at Snoga's feet. "I would hardly apply the term 'captured' to this fox. There is a difference between a captive beast and a dead one."

"Dead or alive, what does it matter?" Snoga glared at the badger. "It was our enemy, and now it'll never bother us again! One less slaver in Mossflower's a good thing ... or would you care to argue that, in front of goodbeasts who've lost friends and family to 'em?"

"I will never disagree that slavers are the enemies of us all. But killing that fox was rather stupid."

"It wasn't like the scum left us any choice!" Snoga blustered, while several of his supporters clutched at their shortsword hilts, deeming this badger stranger had gone too far in his criticism of their leader.

"On the contrary ... " Urthblood pointed at the sword protruding from the fox's back. "Warriors who stand and fight do not end up with a blade between their shoulders. Clearly, this fox was trying to flee when it was slain. That suggests that you could have taken him alive if you'd tried. And then we might have gained valuable information from him, information we will never be able to get now."

Log-a-Log thrust his snout in Snoga's face. "You idiot! He coulda told us where Pirkko an' the others are!"

"An' mebbe he couldn't! I ain't makin' no apologies about slayin' this verminous brushtail. It's still more than you've done fer us, you incompetent fool!"

Winokur and Warnokur knew from experience that shrews were famous for arguing amongst themselves, but the two otters had never seen such a level of antagonism as seemed to exist between Log-a-Log and this Snoga. And both appeared to have many supporters. It was practically civil war within the Guosim!

Urthblood's deep rumbling voice cut across the scene, freezing the two shrews before their hostility could escalate into physical violence. "It might be helpful, Snoga, if you could tell us exactly what happened."

Snoga's animosity toward the Badger Lord was outweighed by his desire to potray himself as the hero of the moment, so he decided to comply with Urthblood's request.

"Why, this vile slaver was sent out to spy on us! Lurkin' about in the bushes, lyin' in wait where he wouldn't think he'd be seen. Well, we sure surprised him, didn't we, fellas!"

Beneath the supportive cheer that went up from Snoga's followers, Warnokur mumbled to Winokur, "Course they surprised 'im. Why would he expect to encounter shrews runnin' away from other shrews?"

"Anyways," Snoga continued, "we flushed 'im outta his hidin' place, sure nuff. He drew his sword an' fought us somethin' fierce, but I got th' best of him! That's my sword in his rotton corpse, an' I ain't sorry I put it there!"

"If he drew his blade on you," Urthblood observed, "why is it still in its scabbard?"

"Uh, um ... why, I put it back, so's we could carry him back here more easily," Snoga stammered in reply. "It's too long to fit in my sheath. Here, see fer yerself!" He pulled the fox's sword from its holder and practically waved it, hilt first, in the badger's face.

Urthblood's eyes widened. "Let me see that."

"No!" Snoga instantly pulled it away. "It's mine, won fair 'n' square in th' heat of mortal combat, an' I ain't givin' it to nobeast!"

Urthblood stooped down to Snoga and removed the weapon from the shrew's protesting grasp like Snoga was a helpless infant.

Shortswords came out of their scabbards with a deadly dry rasp. Longer rat swords were raised in answer.

"Gimme that!" Snoga shrieked.

Urthblood stood still as a statue for several moments, the totality of his attention focused upon the sword in his paw. Then he held it out so that Snoga would have a good view of the weapon. "I don't suppose this design on the hilt, or the shape of the blade, hold any special significance for you?"

"No. Why, should it?"

Urthblood gazed at the shrew for a few heartbeats, then returned the sword to Snoga. "No, I don't suppose so. Take this weapon and keep it if that is your wish, but my advice would be to cast it away. The only luck it will bring you is bad."

"What's that s'posed t' mean?"

Urthblood ignored him and turned to Log-a-Log. "Tell me, where is the nearest large body of water? A lake or river that connects with the sea?"

The shrew chieftain was thrown off-balance by this sudden change of subject. "Um, right now we're midways 'tween two broadstreams, one to th' north an' one to the south. Both run to the sea."

Urthblood shook his head. "The one to the north runs under the mountains. No sea vessel could navigate it. It is the one to the south that we want. How far is it from here?"

"Bout half a day's march, I'd guess," Log-a-Log answered. "We were actshully headed that way, until we caught wind o' yer army an' came to investigate. I'd be begrudgin' the waste o' time, but if that fox was still close enuff fer Snoga to stumble over him, mebbe our pursuit's a lot closer than we'd guessed. There may be hope fer Pirkko yet!"

"Indeed there may," Urthblood said. "It will take me a day out of my way to accompany you to the southward broadstream. But, if all goes well, it will be a day which sees your son and your friends returned to you safely."

Warnokur brightened. "My Lord, you've decided to help the Guosim after all?"

"I have. Although I suspect there are larger issues at play here than just the shrews' stolen kin."

"What makes you say that?" asked Log-a-Log. "What did you see in that sword?"

Urthblood's reply was but a single word, but it was one that sent a chill down the spines of all his soldiers, and made Winokur's stomach do a slow somersault.

"Tratton."

He turned away to start reorganizing his forces for an immediate southward turn. The shrews of the Guosim stared blankly after him, then looked to the two Redwallers. "What in the name of black stones is a Tratton?"

"Trouble, that's what," Warnokur replied soberly, "an' no mistake!"

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That same afternoon, as the united force of Urthblood's army and the Guosim turned south in pursuit of the slavers, Urthfist and his eighty hares encountered their first sign of trouble in Mossflower.

The expedition from Salamandastron was well into the Western Plains by this time, having crossed the river on Fitkin's ferry the previous morning. As they drew nearer their goal, the dark green line of the forest lands became easy to discern, both ahead to the east and also to the south, on their right. The terrain immediately around them was still very much rolling, tree-sparse plains, but the mountains they'd left behind were growing dim with the distance. They were roughly halfway across the flatlands, and the morrow should see them leave the Plains behind and fully enter Mossflower Woods.

"This does not feel right," Urthfist muttered as he marched at the head of his hares. "We have seen no trace of any enemy, or of refugees fleeing from Mossflower. The woodlands are within sight now, and still everything seems normal. I am beginning to wonder whether we have been lied to."

"We've come this far, sir," Major Safford said. "Home is farther behind us than Redwall is ahead of us, so we may as well finish this journey and see wot's wot at the Abbey."

"And meanwhile, my brother will take Salamandastron." Urthfist gritted his teeth. They'd been speaking low, so that no other could overhear. Now the Badger Lord said to Safford, "Bring Browder up to the front of the line with us. If he does turn out to be a spy, he will probably try to make a break as we approach Redwall. I do not want to give him that chance."

"Yes, sir." Safford turned to obey, then checked himself at the sight of a small party approaching from the northeast. "Hold a sec, M'Lord. One of our flanking patrol's returning, and they've got somebeasts with 'em."

Sure enough, the outlines of six figures could be seen just ahead, cresting a slight hill. The three hare scouts were escorting a shrew, a mole and a hedgehog, all dressed in woodlander garb.

Traveller moved up alongside Urthfist and Safford. "Well, it's about jolly time. They're comin' from the direction of Redwall. Maybe now we'll finally get some firstpaw news of wot's goin' on there."

"Perhaps," the badger nodded slowly. "But mark them well, and keep your eyes and ears open. I do not want to be taken by surprise, by anything. Hares, halt!"

The scouts brought the woodlanders straight up to Urthfist as the main column shuffled to a halt. Patrol leader Woythaler nodded to his master. "My Lord, we encountered these three just up ahead, walking towards us. They're from Mossflower, right near Redwall. I think you'll wanna hear wot they have t' say, sir."

Urthfist scrutinized the strangers. The mole was unarmed; the shrew carried a crude, simple sword, while the hedgehog hefted a spiked club that looked homemade. Their clothing was plain and varied, which suggested nothing of uniforms or these creatures belonging to any kind of organized militia. All three had slung over their shoulders sacks of provisions that looked hurriedly thrown together. The impression was definitely that of beasts who had been pressed into travel with little time to prepare.

"Indeed I would. What news from Mossflower, friends?"

"None of it good, I'm afraid," the shrew answered. "Some terrible things goin' on up Redwall ways. Guess you already knows that, if you be Lord Urthfist of Salamandastron, an' there's a hare named Browder 'mongst you."

Urthfist raised a heavy eyebrow. "That there is. You are friends of Browder's?"

"We're acquainted. Best beast we could find fer th' dash to summon you. He must've made it o'er those mountains okay, elsewise this flop-eared brigade o' yers wouldn't be here right now." The shrew took a few steps forward alongside the hare formation, searching the ranks with his gaze. "Hey, Browder, you ol' whompfoot, come out an' show yerself."

Browder wasn't hard to spot, being the only woodland hare among the more properly-attired fighters of the Long Patrol. He stepped out from behind Traveller and pounded the shrew on the shoulder. "Hey, Jarbsy, ol' chum. Didn't know whether I'd ever be seein' your homely shrewface again. Glad t' see that at least somebeasts I know have managed to survive this blinkin' mess."

Major Safford loudly cleared his throat. Browder turned and looked at him.

"Oh! Sorry! M'Lord, may I introduce Jarbo the shrew. He's a good egg. Over there's Folsom the mole - "

"'owdy, Browdee. Gudd t' see ye, boi okey."

" - but I'm 'fraid I don't know that 'hog. But if he's in the company o' these two, he must be all right."

The hedgehog tipped a casual paw-to-brow salute toward Urthfist. "Bollom's the name. T'wasn't part o' the plannin' to call on you. Too busy runnin' fer my life an' tryin' to save my spines while this gang was doin' that business. Only joined up with 'em three days ago."

"Sounds serious," Major Safford observed. "Has Redwall truly fallen?"

"Aye, that it has," Jarbo nodded. "Rats all over the place to the north of the Abbey, weasels to the south, an' foxes standin' lookout on the walltop. Can't get near Redwall wi'out bein' slain, or captured fer a slave."

Safford looked to Urthfist. "Sounds like he's consolidated his forces right around Redwall, just as we'd supposed, M'Lord. Explains why we haven't run into any of his gang so far. It means we'll be able to get pretty close before he knows we're on th' way."

"Don't count on it," Bollom warned. "From that walltop, they can see purty far inta th' Western Plains. You'd best be advised to head straight east from here, that way you'll have some cover from the forest as you approach the Abbey from the south. But you'll still 'ave yer work cut out fer you. Them woods is swarmin' wi' bad 'uns, long afore y' gets to Redwall."

"It also means the bulk of my brother's forces will be concentrated in one spot," said Urthfist. "Can you give me a rough idea of how many troops he has with him?"

"Oh, hunnerds," Jarbo said.

"Burr hurr, moight even be more loik a thousarnd," Folsom added.

"And tell me, what kind of support can we expect from the creatures of Mossflower?" Urthfist asked.

"Well, that's another reason to go due east," Bollom answered. "Most of the goodfolk who were able t' escape made fer the south, since this evil lot came down from th' north, an' the Western Plains is too open an' exposed to make a good escape route. In the woods south o' the Abbey, you may find scores or even hundreds who'd foller yer lead an' march wi' you inta battle. They ain't seasoned warriors, but that's their home they'd be fightin' fer, so what they lacks in experience, they'd mebbe make up fer in enthusiasm."

"An' there's even more who went farther south, into lower Mossflower," Jarbo put in. "'specially children, oldsters an' ladyfolk. We're on our way now to be with 'em. They took the south road a few days ago, while we stuck 'round Redwall to see if there was aught more we could do there." The shrew gave a long, respectful look at the Long Patrol hares. "Now that ye're here, some who gave up hope an' ran away might be convinced to come back. An' there's a large shrew army that travels the south of Mossflower in the summer. They're allies of Redwall, an' if they can be found, they're sure to join you."

Urthfist silently considered all he'd heard. At length he said, "I will follow your advice, and turn our course directly east. We will muster whatever support we can find, and battle any evil we encounter back to the very walls of Redwall. With luck, I can liberate the woods around the Abbey and put Redwall under a siege that will keep my brother bottled up inside the very stronghold he has captured. I will leave it to you to get word to others in the south who might be persuaded to assist us in this fight. I regret that I can spare you none of my hares to aid you in that task; I will need every one for the battle ahead. I do not know if we can liberate Redwall ourselves. But if you can bring sufficient help from the south, perhaps together we can succeed, and rid Mossflower of this evil that never should have befallen it."

"We'll do what we can," Jarbo volunteered for his two companions. "But it sure would help if we had at least one speedy beast to help get th' word spread thoughout south Mossflower. We shrews, hedgehogs an' moles ain't exactly th' fastest creatures around, y' know."

Urthfist cast a long gaze at the woodland hare in his company. "Would it help if I gave you Browder for this purpose? By his own admission he is not a fighting beast, so would be of limited help to me where I am going. And he was able to reach Salamandastron in three days. He should be more than fast enough for your needs."

Jarbo waved aside this offer. "Oh, I'm sure Browder's got 'is heart set on goin' with you to Redwall ... "

"Do you want a hare or not?" Urthfist barked at Jarbo, then turned to the hare in question. "What say you, Browder?"

The woodland hare shrugged. "Like you said, M'Lord, I'm no fighter. An' these friends o' mine sure could use my bally shanks for runnin' 'round with dispatches an' such. Then again, I do know the woodlands south o' Redwall pretty well, and could still help guide you there. I'm fine with wotever you decide, Lord."

"Then go with your friends, Browder. You can better serve the cause of Redwall and Mossflower with them than with me. When I see you next, it is my hope that you will be in the company of a great many allies that you have been able to raise for our fight. Until now, I had not been sure whether I should trust you, but I see now that goodbeasts truly are in need. You did well to summon me as quickly as you did."

Folsom the mole stepped over to Browder, warmly shaking paws with his hare friend and then digging into his haversack to produce a set of wood pipes. "Hurr y'go, Browdee. Oi kept 'em safe 'n' foine for 'ee."

Browder took the instrument from the mole. "Thanks, Folsom chappie. Knew I could trust you t' look after 'em." He raised the pipes to his lips and blew out a snippet of a rousing and lively melody, then turned to Urthfist. "No room to bring these with me to Salamandastron - hadta travel light, don'tcha know. Many's the time I wished I had 'em with me to play you a few ditties while we marched. When a beast's got music in it's heart, it's hard to make do without it."

The badger gave a nod. "You can make your music for your friends now, and perhaps someday soon make it for the new Abbot or Abbess of Redwall as well. But now our ways must part. Good fortune be with you. All of you."

"And with you, Lord." Browder bowed deeply to Urthfist, then stepped aside to stand with the other three woodlanders while the army of Salamandastron got underway once more. He raised the pipes to his lips again and blew out a stately, measured marching tune as the column tramped past them. Jarbo, Folsom and Bollom saluted and waved at the departing hares, wishing them luck in journeying and in battle. Browder ceased his playing once the last hare was past, and the four of them watched in silence as the trailing end of the procession dwindled into the distance. Then they turned and started away to the south.

"Good show, chaps," Browder said. "I do believe they swallowed it."

"Hook, line an' sinker," said Bollom.

"Hey, you ain't the only beast here who can act," Jarbo jibed. "But I'll be just as happy to get back to Lord Urthblood an' take my place with my shrewmates. I'm a fighter, not a player!"


	14. Chapter 40

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty

The sun had nearly set by the time Urthblood's army and the Guosim reached the banks of the river to their south. The forest opened up considerably as they neared the wide, swift-running watercourse. After such long travel beneath the gloom of the dense forest canopy, it was a joy to once more see patches of open sky and bright sunlight. The stream before them now was nearly twice as broad as the one spanned by Lorr's Bridge, and looked as if it could support considerable boating traffic. The wide banks along the shore provided plenty of room for the twin armies to set up camp for the night.

"I still don't get it," Log-a-Log said. "What would searats be doin' this far inland?"

Winokur gazed at the broadstream. "The river looks almost big enough to float a pirate dreadnought. Maybe they sailed in from the sea?"

Log-a-Log scanned the river upstream and down. "I don't see no pirate ships. Besides, nothing that big could travel this far into the woods without attractin' a whole lotta attention from the beasts who live along the shores."

"Aw, that badger don't know nuthin!" Snoga snorted, after checking first to make sure Urthblood wasn't within hearing. "I know these waters to the west, an' there's spots where they get narrow 'n' deep, with branches hangin' low overhead. Any tall ship would snag its sails an' catch its masts long afore it reached these parts."

"Then how do you explain that sword?" Log-a-Log demanded of his troublesome fellow shrew, pointing at the weapon Snoga had stolen from the dead fox.

Snoga clutched the sword closer to him, as if fearful that somebeast would try to take it away from him. "What of it? He says it's a searat sword, but how would he know, huh? We can only take his word for it. I sez he's makin' the whole thing up, jus' to impress us an' frighten us an' get us t' do what he tells us! He said he'd have yer whelp back by now, but I don't see any o' them foxes we been chasin' after. Prob'ly heard us comin' a mile away, an' made it across this river on boats they had waitin' for 'em."

"Perhaps they did," rolled out a deep voice from behind.

Snoga jumped fully half his height in surprise. He didn't count upon anybeast so large as Urthblood being able to sneak up on him so quietly.

"But I doubt it," the Badger Lord went on. "Foxes are not overly fond of water craft. More likely, they did hear us coming, as Snoga said, and fled away to one side of us or another, along the riverbank."

"So, you admit it yerself!" Snoga spat. "We lost 'em, thanks to you!"

"It is not the foxes which concern me," said Urthblood. "They had enough of a lead over us that they would have had plenty of time to pass off their prisoners to the beasts waiting to meet them."

"What beasts?" mocked Snoga. "Your invisible searats? It makes no sense!"

"No?" Urthblood looked around at the others. "Are we agreed that these slavers were foxes, and that they were heading south?"

Everybeast, even Snoga, nodded in agreement. "We knew from reports they was foxes even afore Snoga slew one of 'em," Log-a-Log said. "An' their tracks showed they was makin' in this direction."

"Well, then. Do foxes generally keep slaves themselves?"

"They might," Snoga said quickly, sensing where Urthblood was going with this. "If they had a castle or fort o' their own ... "

"I am widely traveled, and I have heard of no such place," said Urthblood. "But foxes are far more likely to be collecting slaves for profit, or at the behest of some other master."

"Aye," piped in Log-a-Log, "they usually steal youngbeasts and helpless creatures for other evil ones who need slaves."

"So, if these foxes you were chasing were not going to keep your loved ones for themselves, to whom were they delivering these slaves? We know they were heading south, and here we are, as far south as they could go without a boat or bridge. We know they were taking the slaves somewhere, and no doubt counted upon being rewarded for their prize. Searats use many slaves in their rowing galleys, and we found a searat sword on the slain fox. Far from making no sense, Snoga, it seems to me most obvious what is happening here. The searats have employed these foxes to capture slaves for them, and are paying the slavers in weaponry."

"Bah!" Snoga scoffed. "Even if all you say's true, where does it get us? Look around. No searats, no foxes, no slaves. If they were ever here t'all, they're gone now. Back out to the sea, no doubt, in those phantom ships o' yers that never coulda got here in th' first place!"

Urthblood refused to be goaded by Snoga's scorn. "If they could not have gotten here in one of their tall ships, they must be using something else."

"Yes indeed, something else, something else!"

Everybeast turned to behold a strange bankvole who had crept up and joined their company with a stealth that would have done Urthblood proud. The vole wore a long overcoat that came down past his knees, and his fur was unruly and unkempt, sticking out in all directions as if he'd just rolled out of bed. The gleam in his eye was just slightly maniacal.

"Yes, yes," the vole went on in a rapidfire fashion, enthusiastically rubbing his paws together, "something different. Perhaps a single vessel big enough to carry a full crew of rats as well as a load of slaves, yes, but with masts that can be easily and quickly lowered to allow passage beneath low-hanging branches. Or some manner of barge, which rides low in the water but can hold many beasts. Or some new type of craft, unlike any we are familiar with. Yes, yes, it could be done, oh yes indeed it could ... "

"Oh, why don'tcha crawl back under th' rock where you came from, ya loon?" Snoga said derisively.

Urthblood asked the two shrews, "Do you know this beast?"

"Aye, that we do." Log-a-Log addressed the vole. "I was startin' to worry 'bout you, Lorr. Where've you been hidin'?"

"Ducked up into the trees when the fightin' began back there. You know I don't go for that kind of thing, no I don't, no, not at all."

Urthblood regarded the vole with much renewed interest. "You are Lorr? The same one whose bridge we crossed to the north?"

The eccentric bankvole flashed a wide grin. "One in the same, sir, one in the same! You know my work? Guess you must, that army of yours wouldn't be here otherwise. Always said that bridge would support an army crossin' it, now it's been proved, o yes it has!"

Log-a-Log made a more formal introduction. "Lord Urthblood, meet Lorr the Tinker. Never met a beast who was better with his paws, or his mind when it come to envisionin' things. He designed that bridge you crossed, all in his head without drawing any plans or anything. We met him this past spring, an' he positively badgered us - no pun intended - until we helped him build it. Only took a few days, if'n you can believe it. That's how fully worked out t'was in his mind."

Lorr stepped forward to stand before Urthblood. He licked his paw and slicked back his headfur into some slight semblance of orderliness; it held for half a heartbeat before springing back into its former disheveled state. "Pleased to meet you, never met a Badger Lord before, from Salamandastron or anywhere else for that matter. Lorr the Tinkerer, at your service, M'Lord!"

He stuck out his licked paw for Urthblood to shake; the badger satisfied himself with a nod toward Lorr, keeping his own paw to himself. "The pleasure is mine, to meet a beast with your unique talents. Tell me, Lorr, since you were obviously listening in on our conversation, do you have any ideas of your own on what we were just discussing?"

"Searats, you mean?" Lorr shrugged. "Never met one, and wouldn't care if I never do. Heard about them, that's enough for me. Afraid I'm not enough of an authority on them to say one way or the other whether this nasty affair is their work. Try not to talk when I don't know what I'm talking about, saves me a lot of trouble that way."

"More beasts could learn from your example," Urthblood said, glancing at Snoga. "I am certain that searats are behind this. And if those slaver foxes were headed for this spot, then their searat accomplices cannot be far from here."

"But, where?" Log-a-Log asked. "This is my son we are talking about. You gave me cause fer hope when you said we might be able to retrieve him today, or on the morrow. But if he's on his way out to sea, we'll never catch 'em. Is all hope lost, or am I missin' something here?"

"Here is what we shall do," Urthblood announced to the beasts around him. "First, while we are setting up camp for the night here, I will send out some of my fastest troops as scouts, to spy out this riverbank both upstream and down, as far as they can while the daylight holds. If there are any large craft close at paw, they will be found. If this fails, I have another scout who can cover distances that even a hare could not. My Captain Halpryn is a kite, and she has been spying out the lands for me during this march. Now that we are out from under the dense cover of the woods, I will be able to signal her. She can follow this stream, all the way to the sea if need be, to search for any sign of what we seek. If it is there to be found, she will find it."

Snoga turned away. "Marchers on foot wouldn't be able to catch up with a boat, even if there is one. This is foolishness, top to bottom. You'll see. When this business is done, the only slaver we'll have found is the one I already slew, you see if it ain't. C'mon, shrews," he said to his followers, "let's take no more part in this stupidity. We'll set up our own camp over there, an' let these idiots have to themselves." Snoga led his group of about a score and a half away upstream, away from the rest of the Guosim and Urthblood's forces.

As before, Urthblood remained wholly unmoved by Snoga's criticism. Instead, he strode over to his ranks to begin the task of picking fast runners for the scouting teams.

Log-a-Log, however, looked after his departing shrew adversary with a mix of anger and sick worry. "What if he's right, Wink?"

The young otter patted his companion reassuringly on the shoulder. "Him? Beasts that rude aren't usually right about very much at all, in my experience."

Log-a-Log was not fully convinced. "Yes, that's what I keep tellin' myself. He's usually wrong about things, an' I delight in his folly every time. But if ever there was a time when he could be right, Wink lad, I pray that this ain't it!"

00000000000

Two scouting parties were organized. Captain Mattoon, who was fast for a weasel, was chosen to head the team that would inspect the upstream banks, while Captain Saybrook would lead the downriver party. The rest of the scouts were an assortment of ferrets, stoats and otters ... all among the more long-legged creatures in Urthblood's service, and all of whom had proven their swiftness under battle conditions many times before. Each team also included at least two experienced trackers. If there were any telltale signs of the fox slavers in the vicinity, they would be found.

The two parties were also sufficiently large and well-armed to fight their way out of any trouble that might come their way. Urthblood did not want to lose a single beast if he could help it.

Once the scouting teams were off, the Badger Lord turned his attention to lighting a signal fire for Captain Halpryn. Dry wood had been gathered from the surrounding forest and piled high for the bonfire. The Northland shrew cooks set right to work with flint and tinder, dry grass and foraged twigs for kindling. In no time at all they had a large fire blazing above the riverbank.

Urthblood himself gathered up greenery from the forest underbrush, carefully picking and choosing only certain types of leaves and branches. When they were added to the bonfire, a column of dense white smoke arose from the roaring flames, coiling up past the treetops and far up into the sky.

From the many supplies that his troops carried, Urthblood took a small cannister of power that sparkled like pulverized crystals. He poured out two large pawfuls of the powder and cast it into the dancing flames. Immediately the smoke took on a symphony of hues: blue, violet, orange, green and pink, all mingled together and yet each distinct from the other. The effect was quite beautiful, and quite unlike anything either the Redwallers or the Guosim had ever seen.

Warnokur nodded in admiration. "Yup, I don't reckon your bird captains could mistake that fer anything else, M'Lord."

"That is the idea."

Lorr was utterly enchanted by the display, edging so close to the fire that Winokur had to pull him back to keep the bankvole from singeing his whiskers. "Oh, I say, I say, that is quite marvelous! I have heard of flaked minerals producing such colors, yes I have, but you have refined them to a degree that I had never imagined! You must share this formula with me, Lord!"

"Yes, it is quite marvelous," Winokur agreed. "We could use this at our next Nameday celebration back at Redwall ... it would be quite a spectacle burning on the Abbey lawns."

Urthblood gazed westward, along the narrow clearing that the river cut through the forest. "The sun is only just setting. The long summer twilight will work to our advantage. Captain Halpryn should be able to answer this signal and arrive well before nightfall."

"What next?" Log-a-Log asked the badger warrior, eager to get on with the search for his son and the others.

"Now we set up camp," Urthblood replied. "By the time we are finished with that, the scouts should be returning. And then hopefully we will know more than we do now. How we proceed will depend upon what they can tell us."

00000000000

"I say, wot's that?"

Traveller stood stopped in his tracks, facing south. Paw to his brow, he scanned the distant horizon.

Urthfist came to a halt, as did the coulmn of hares behind him. He followed Traveller's gaze, but could make out nothing unusual that might have caused the speedy scout to stop and stare. "What is it, Traveller? What do you see?"

"Smoke, I think. Above the treetops way off to the south. Got a funny color to it. Reminds me of something I saw up north a few times."

"Up north?" Urthfist tensed. "Could it have anything to do with my brother?"

"Don't rightly know, sir. Uh, mind if I have a peek up topside?"

"Not at all. Here," Urthfist bent over and cupped his massive paws together to create a sort of stirrup. Traveller put one foot into it, and pushed himself up onto the badger's shoulders. Urthfist straightened to his full height, while Traveller planted one footpaw on each of the armored shoulder plates. Urthfist grabbed hold of the hare's ankles to steady the smaller creature, who now stood up as straight and tall as he could. From this elevated perch, Traveller once more turned his scrutiny southward.

"Hmm ... hmm ... yes, it definitely looks familiar. Not sure wot it means, tho'. Hey, Saff ol' chum, come have a jolly gander for yourself." Traveller adroitly hopped down to the ground, while Major Safford took a turn up on the Badger Lord's shoulders.

Urthfist strained to see what his hares were seeing, but could not. "I'm afraid my eyesight is no match for either of yours. All I can make out is a hazy tree line, so far away that it's just a misty shadow at the edge of the world."

"Well, there's really not too much more to it than that, sir," Safford said from high above his master. "But Traveller's right, as usual. Column of smoke, way far away. Looks sorta like it has different tints to it. Not like anything I've ever seen before."

"Traveller," said Urthfist, "you mentioned that you might know what it is?"

"Didn't make that claim, M'Lord. But a number of times up in the Northlands, I glimpsed smoke columns with many colors, just like this one seems to have. Never could trace any of 'em back to their source, so I never did learn what the bally things were all about."

"Any guesses?" Urthfist pressed.

"Well," Traveller stroked his whiskers, "there's a good many shrews wot live in the Northlands ... some o' them even work for His Bloodiness, more fool them ... an' these colored smokes always seemed to come from shrew territories. Now, we know Browder an' his friends were off to find those shrews who're allies of Redwall, away to the south. So it could be a shrew thing, but that's just a stab in the dark, sir."

"It's a more educated guess than any of the rest of us could have made," Urthfist complimented him. "How far away do you judge it to be?"

Safford answered. "It's a fair piece, sir. Tough to make an accurate estimate at this time of day. The bloomin' twilight can be tricky. Pity the sun's already set. I'd put it at a day's march from our current position, tho' it could be more like two."

"Then it does not concern us," Urthfist declared decisively, hoisting Major Safford back down to the ground; the hare landed with a sprightly bounce. "Our business lies to the northeast, at Redwall. If this mystery lay in our path, that would be one thing. But its distance and direction means that it cannot bear on us directly. We will stay to our course, to where we know we are needed, and not go chasing after some faraway phantom whose nature we do not even know. Be they friend or foe, they will be hard pressed to catch up with us. Hares, march!"

No sooner was the command given than the column was underway again, swiftly trudging its way toward Redwall.

Traveller and Safford fell into step alongside Urthfist. "I say," the Major said to the other hare, "you don't suppose our pal Browder could have something to with that bally bonfire?"

"Not unless he sprouted wings an' flew," Traveller answered. "He only left us a few hours ago. I couldn't even have sprinted that far in so short a time when I was in my prime. That smoke was over a day away, even at a full hare's run. I don't care how fast this Browder's s'posed t' be, or if he really did make it from Redwall to Salamandastron in three days - he couldn't have gotten that far south so quickly."

"Hmm. S'pose you're right, chap. But, wot if it's some sorta signal lit by the enemy, lettin' His Bloodiness know we're on our way?"

"Can't see why they'd light a signal fire so far outta th' way," said Traveller. "We could barely see it from here, an' Redwall's even farther north than we are. An' wot beast could have seen us from all the way down there, anyway? If we were bein' spied on, our watchers would run back to Redwall to warn Urthblood, not way off to the south to light some blinkin' fire. Besides, all reports have him an' his vermin concentrated 'round the Abbey. No reason to think any of 'em are in lower Mossflower, even if that explanation made sense."

"Well, you're the seasoned scout here," Safford admitted. "You'd know more o' such things than any hare among us. I'll go with your assessment."

Urthfist's rumbling voice cut across their reverie. "I trust you two are speculating for your own amusement. Of course we will be spotted by the enemy before we reach our goal. The only question is when. I have no illusions that we will be able to march right up to the gates of Redwall and catch my brother unawares. But so long as we are careful to avoid an ambush or trap, and remain on guard against any assault against us, we will keep to our course for as long as we may. Even if we are seen coming, they may have no choice but to leave us unmolested until we are nearly to the Abbey walls. No small party would dare an attack on us. If we are lucky, we may be able to penetrate well into Mossflower, and perhaps most of the way to Redwall, and find none to oppose us. So work your jaws if idle talk entertains you, but just don't forget to keep your eyes and ears alert with every step. They will tell you more of what you need to know than will your tongues."

Although the badger's tone was companionly, the mortal message in his words was not lost on his hares. Safford and Traveller immediately fell silent. And in that silence, the troop of Long Patrol marched their unbending way toward the dimming east.

00000000000

There was no reason for Urthblood to forbid the lighting of cookfires, since his signal fire was putting up enough smoke to be seen all the way to the Western Plains. As soon as the Northland shrews had finished setting the blaze to summon Halpryn, they turned their attention to starting a score of smaller fires up and down the wide riverbank. The Guosim lit a couple of their own, as did Urthblood's rats. Even Snoga's group made their own fire, pointedly refusing to mingle with any of the badger's troops, or even the main force of the Guosim.

Log-a-Log could not openly criticize his rival on this score, since he himself was not exactly warm to the idea of sharing his companionship with vermin. And so it was that the Guosim ended up sitting mostly with Urthblood's shrews and otters, while the Northland rats and weasels kept to themselves farther back toward the trees.

Everybeast who had any foraging skills at all was put to work as the fires were being lit. Enough wild rhubarb and pennycress was found to make sufficient soup for the entire gathering. The thin stew was spiced up with dried thyme and chickory from the Northlanders' supplies, and thickened with some flour and honey that the Guosim had with them. Unfortunately, no potatoes or carrots or turnips could be located to make the stew more substantial, but no complaints were heard from any of Urthblood's troops, who were happy for any hot meal at all after the hardtack rations of their last day's marching.

Log-a-Log and a few of his senior shrews staked out a spot around one fire with Lorr, Winokur, and Warnokur. Many of the other otters joined them, eager to meet the creature responsible for the fantastic bridge they'd crossed two evenings earlier.

"So," Warnokur said to Lorr, "ye're the feller that's got that bridge named after him, eh?"

Lorr flushed about the ears and looked a little embarrassed. "Not my idea to name it after myself, not it wasn't. I just scratched out the rough plans on some bark to show these fine shrews how to do it, can't very well take credit for doing more than that, no siree I can't."

"Aw, now, I recall it a touch differently, Lorr," Log-a-Log broke in. "We wandering shrews were content to leave that ford as it was, an' let the boatin' folk have the river to themselves. T'was you we found rantin' an' ravin' by the riverside, insistin' we help you build th' flinkin' thing ... why, you practically pressed us into service! How you did it I'll never be able to figger, but all I can say is that afore we knew it, we was all cuttin' an' choppin' the timber fer that bridge. Not that I regret it none. It was good fun, almost like an adventure, seein' if we could actually make it work. Didn't wanna block up the water, not leave enough room fer ferry craft 'n' logboats to pass under it. But Lorr 'ere had it all figgered from th' very first plank to th' last. Never woulda come to pass if not fer him, so we all felt it hadta bear his name."

Winokur, ever mindful of history from his Redwall schooling, said to the bankvole, "How does it feel knowing that generations from now, creatures who use that bridge might still be calling it by your name?"

Lorr shrugged. "What's this life for, if not to leave behind something that can help others?"

Warnokur laughed. "Aye, that's wisdom if ever I heard it. But don't you worry none, Lorr matey - when we get back to Redwall at the end of all this, my son Wink 'ere will make sure this bridge o' yers gets mention in our Abbey records. Ye're a historical figure, like it or not!"

The eccentric tinkerbeast stared straight ahead, eyes wide. "Funny, I don't feel like one."

"Ain't that the way o' things, tho'," the otter Olimpo mused. "Those of us who're makin' history are too busy doin' it to realize that's what they're doin'. Take this march we're on. What's gonna be waitin' fer us at Salamandastron? Will it be a battle, or will it be peaceful? If there's fightin', which side'll win, an' how will it affect th' lives of everybeast throughout all th' lands? Who among us will die, an' who will become a hero ... or both?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Makes this simple otter's mind spin, when I think on such things."

"Countin' yer toes makes yer mind spin, you thickhead," Olimpo's friend Brot jibed, eliciting a new round of laughter. Turning to Lorr, he went on, "Historical figure or not, all I can say is it's a good thing that bridge o' yers was there, matey. We otters coulda just swum across, but th' rest o' Lord Urthblood's army woulda been stuck. Don't know what we woulda done then."

"Aye, that's true," said Warnokur. "An' bein' able to cross in such good time put us here right when you needed us, Loggy mate. Without Lord Urthblood, you'da never knowed it was searats behind those slavers o' yers. Now, y'got more of a hope gettin' liddle Pirkko an' th' rest back safe 'n' sound."

"We don't got 'em back yet." Log-a-Log stared into the fire, and the mood over the companions suddenly turned somber. "Twists my gut, just sittin' here waitin', knowin' that every passing minute could be carryin' my son farther away, p'raps forever." The shrew chieftain's gaze went to Urthblood, who stood off alone, intently studying the swift currents in the dying daylight, or so it seemed. "I'm sure he don't like all this' waitin' anymore'n I do. He just don't show it as much, being a Badger Lord."

"He's just thinkin'," Brot said. "Trust me, that beast's yer best hope of gettin' yer kin back. We seen 'im do things nobeast oughta be able t' do. Not only is he a great warrior, but he's got prophetic vision too. An' when he puts th' two of 'em togther ... well, let's just say you wouldn't wanna be th' villains you've got yer son, if Lord Urthblood's set his mind to gettin' him back."

"You don't s'pose he'd still angry about those rats of his that Snoga slew?" Log-a-Log worried.

"Lord Urthblood don't hold grudges," Olimpo assured the shrew, "an' he won't let himself stay angry over anything like that. If he says it's water under th' bridge fer him, you can bet he won't be dwellin' on it no more."

"Well, I hope that's true," Log-a-Log sighed. "I'm still gettin' used to th' notion of a badger havin' vermin under arms. Snoga was wrong to disobey orders, but I was almost ready to attack you myself, before I saw there was goodbeasts in yer train. Good thing you didn't have any foxes in this gang, elseways I'd've gone fer blood an' no questions asked."

Winokur and Warnokur traded a long, wordless glance. The exact same thought was on both their minds: there were indeed foxes in Lord Urthblood's army, but he had ordered them to stay behind at Redwall. Could he possibly have known that bringing Machus and his foxes along on this march might be inviting disaster? If Urthblood really did possess vision of future events, anything was possible.

"Anyway," Log-a-Log concluded, "if that badger can put behind him what Snoga did, I guess I can bring myself to call vermin allies. But it sure don't feel natural."

Winokur craned his neck. "Speaking of vermin, isn't that weasel over there one of the scouts sent out to scope out downriver?"

His father nodded. "Yup, I do believe it is, Wink ... "

Log-a-Log was up like a shot, bustling over to Urthblood to listen in on the returning weasel's report. The two Redwall otters followed.

"My Lord," the scout breathlessly reported, "we picked up tracks ... a few hundred paces ... west of camp 'ere ... foxes an' others, leading downstream along the bank. We followed 'em fer awhile, then they ... disappeared ... "

Urthblood - and Log-a-Log - hung on every word. "Explain," said the badger.

"Well, they led to this one spot on th' bank ... they was very thick there, like a whole lotta beasts was walkin' round 'n' round over th' same spot. Then, the tracks of the foxes led away north again, but there was no other beasts with 'em. Cap'n Saybrook thought you'd wanna come see it fer yerself, M'Lord, while there's still some daylight t'see by."

"He was right." Urthblood was striding downstream along the bank even as he spoke. "If Captain Halpryn arrives in my absence, please tell her to await me here. I will return as soon as I am able."

Winokur, Warnokur and Log-a-Log did not know what to make of this. But since it no doubt had some bearing upon the shrew's stolen son, they set off behind Urthblood, matching his brisk pace as best they could.


	15. Chapter 41

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-One

Urthblood paced back and forth along the high bank, his eyes glued to the soft ground, straining in the failing light to make sense of the mad confusion of tracks that his downriver scouts had discovered.

"Perhaps we should light some torches," Winokur suggested.

"We'll have to," Saybrook agreed, "if Lord Urthblood doesn't find what he's looking for soon."

The otter captain had kept his team back from the area that was the most heavily-tracked, once he realized the significance of what they'd found. Now Log-a-Log and the two Redwallers stood with Saybrook's search party, looking on while Utrthblood made his inspection.

The badger suddenly looked up, redirecting his gaze out toward the swiftly-running waters. The stream was narrower here, and gave the impression of considerable depth. Urthblood scanned the water intently, focusing upon the various rocks and branches that broke the surface here and there, mostly along the shores. But there was one piece of debris - what appeared to be a stout, flat-topped tree stump floating out near the center of the river - that caught his attention and held it.

He turned away from the broadstream to study the other item of interest that Saybrook had found: a crude assembly of branches, lashed together with vines to form a sort of makeshift walkway. Saybrook had told them that when he first encountered it lying slightly farther down along the banks, he assumed it was part of a bridge of some kind. There were even some marks in the mud, along with all the pawprints, which suggested that it had been set up there as a crossing over the waters. The only problem was, the span was less than half as long as the river was wide. If it had been part of a bridge, where was the rest of it?

Urthblood stared at the ruts in the ground where the gangplank had presumably been laid, then lined them up with the stump he'd spotted out in midriver. Nodding to himself, he called out, "Captain Saybrook, dispatch your fastest runner back to the main camp. I want two cannisters of the Flitchaye gas brought here, and quickly."

"Yes, Lord!" Saybrook issued the order to the fastest weasel present. The runner ducked his head in acknowledgement, took a deep breath, and sprinted off into the twilight.

Log-a-Log came forward, mindful not to tread on any of the slaver's tracks. "Flitchaye gas?"

"A part of my arsenal. Developed from, and named for, a tribe of particularly nasty vermin who had a somewhat unusual method of ensnaring hapless travelers. I brought it down with me from the north, and I deem it might be called for now."

"Why? What have you found?" the shrew asked anxiously.

Urthblood pointed at the ground. "There are the pawprints of many different beasts here. Foxes, to be sure, but other large prints as well, which are clearly those of rats. And smaller ones, which could very well have been made by your fellow shrews. I believe this may be the point where the slaver foxes passed their captives on to the slave keepers for whom they were working."

"But, there's nothing here," Log-a-Log said, confused and impatient. "Didn't somebeast say the tracks led away north again? Shouldn't we be following them, instead of loitering 'round here?"

"Those northward tracks were the first thing I examined, friend shrew. They are of foxes only, whereas the tracks leading to this spot include foxes and smaller beasts. The slavers did indeed head north. But their slaves were no longer with them. Therefore, it would be pointless to pursue them."

"No worse than dallying here!" Log-a-Log protested. "At least if we caught up to 'em, we could force 'em to tell us what they did with my son an' the others. We ain't gonna find out nothing here, 'cos everybeast else is gone!"

"Perhaps you are right," Urthblood conceded. "If that proves to be the case, then we will follow the northward tracks at first light tomorrow. But first, there is more here that bears examination ... perhaps much more."

"Like what?"

Now Urthblood pointed out at the treestump offshore. "Tell me, have you ever seen a floating stump that stays in one place, even in such rapid waters as these?"

Log-a-Log stared at it. "Must be caught on sumpthin'. Or maybe it's a long log stuck into th' riverbottom, an' we're only seein' the tip of it."

"Perhaps. But notice the flow of the current. It seems somewhat different right here than elsewhere in the river ... almost as if it becomes very shallow out around the stump."

"So? Maybe it does. That means it could be caught on something after all, if the bottom's so near th' surface."

"If so, remarkable how perfectly level it is. But look more closely. It does seem to have some very slight bob and sway to it. I had to study it myself for many long moments before I noticed it."

"So what?" Log-a-Log exploded. "I'm not interested in any blinkin' stump!"

"But I am." Urthblood turned to Saybrook. "Captain, how good would your visibility underwater be in this light?"

"Uh, depends on wot I'm lookin' for, M'Lord. Shrimp would prob'ly get by me, but I could still make out bigger fish. What'd you have in mind?"

"Big fish." The badger warrior stepped to the edge of the bank. "Warnokur, would you please join Captain Saybrook? I think there should be two of you down there. I want you to take an exploratory swim out around that stump ... see if you can tell whether it's attached to anything, and if so, what, and in what fashion ... "

"We're on it, M'Lord!" Saybrook saluted, and made to dive right in from alongside Urthblood. The badger, moving quickly, grabbed Saybrook by the tail and pulled him back.

"Not here. Down there, about twenty paces."

"Uh, sir?" Saybrook looked to Urthblood in puzzlement.

"I don't want you hit your head."

"Um, it seems pretty deep here, sir ... "

"Looks can be deceptive. It's your skull, but I would strongly advise you to be safe rather than sorry."

"Uh ... very well. Come along, Warny mate. Don't wanna be a landlubber, do ya?"

"After you, Cap'n."

The two otters took a running start upstream along the bank, sprang off the ground almost as one and smoothly knifed into the water. In the twilight they were totally lost to view beneath the dark surface; there was no way for the others on the bank to follow their progess.

Log-a-Log looked back to Urthblood. "Lord, what in tarnation's goin' on here?"

"Investigating a suspicion I have. It may be rather farfetched, but we should know in a few moments whether there is anything to it."

"And meanwhile, my son could be travelin' farther away from us with every moment we waste here!"

Urthblood levelled a cool gaze at the argumentative shrew. "And by the same token we could, in our haste, blunder right past the very thing we seek, and miss our only chance for success in this quest."

Log-a-Log opened his mouth to press his argument, but at that moment Warnokur and Saybrook erupted from the water, thrashing and sputtering as if they'd forgotten how to swim. Winokur rushed to his father's side, helping Warnokur back up onto dry land, while several of the Northlanders did the same for their otter captain.

"My word, Warny," Log-a-Log exclaimed, coming over to pound his old friend on the back to help Warnokur catch his breath, "you look as close to drowned as any otter I ever see'd! What did you see down there?"

"A ship!" Warnokur gasped, turning to Urthblood. "By lake an' stream, M'Lord, there's an honest-to-goodness ship down there!"

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The others stared at the two otters in disbelief. Only Urthblood did not seem wholly surprised by this revelation.

"Describe it," he ordered.

"Like a big iron fish, it is," Saybrook declared. "Even got a couple small portholes up front, like a pair o' glowin' eyes."

"Glowing?" Urthblood asked.

"Aye," Saybrook nodded. "Them beasties inside must've had some lamps lit, 'cos it were brighter through the windows than in the water."

"Did you get a good look inside the vessel?"

"Uh, Warny here got a better peek than me, M'Lord. I was on me way back topside before I even realized what it was I was lookin' at. Sorry, sir, but I really weren't expectin' anything like that!"

Urthblood turned to Warnokur. "Could you get a clear view inside?"

"Not more'n a glimpse, M'Lord. But seemed like quite a crowd. An' I could swear they ain't all rats."

The badger warrior silently digested this information. "So it is true," he said at length. "I had heard for some time that Tratton was toying with the idea of an armored boat that could run under the water. But I did not imagine he actually would have succeeded in building such a craft. I see now that I have underestimated him."

He turned to Log-a-Log. "We have found our searats. And, unless I am very much mistaken, we have also found your son and the other stolen creatures."

The shrew was ready for action. "Whadda we do? How do we get 'em out?"

"The same way they went in. That treestump is actually a hatch, disguised to look like something inconspicuous. And that short bridge is the gangplank they used to get there from this shore. You'll notice it is just the right length to cover that distance. They would need such a span, since the underwater vessel must stay to the middle of the river, where the water is deep enough to keep it covered."

"What if it's locked?" Log-a-Log asked.

"We'll tackle that problem when we get to it. First, let us get that gangplank in place, so that we can get out there."

"You don't reckon they'll try'n hurt their prisoners if they hear us tryin' t' break in?" Warnokur wondered.

"That is why I sent for the Flitchaye gas," said Urthblood. "It should help prevent unwanted bloodshed. But it would be even more helpful if we could have a clearer picture of what is going on inside that vessel ... how many searats there are, and their position relative to their captives. Warnokur, you would know Log-a-Log's son if you saw him. I would like you to swim back down there to take a longer look through the portholes. Let us know whether we have found the beasts we seek, and what kind of odds we will be facing if these rats decide to make a stand."

"Good thinkin', M'Lord! But, if I may suggest, my son Wink knows Li'l Pirkko better'n I do. Mayhaps he could come along? There's two portholes down there, so we could each take one ... "

Urthblood looked to the younger otter. "Do you agree?"

But Winokur was already stripping out of his habit, folding it and laying it neatly atop a grass tuft. "Yes, that's true. And it's about time I start pulling my weight on this march, so ... " He motioned for his father to go on ahead of him. "Lead the way, Dad - you know what's down there. I'll be right behind you."

"That's me boy!" Warnokur beamed, and sprang for the water. Now that he knew the dimensions of the unseen craft, he bounded up the bank several strides and dove into the stream. His son was a mere heartbeat behind.

Winokur found himself swimming through Warnokur's bubbling wake. He stroked his way through the cool evening waters almost by instinct, since it took some moments for his vision to adapt to the gloom. But as it did, he had to stuggle not to gasp in amazement at the sight that took form before him.

The ship was indeed like a giant iron fish, just as Saybrook had described it. The faint light from the twin forward portholes made the craft look uncannily alive, and menacingly aware of their approach. He knew it was just an illusion, but still Winokur had to fight down pangs of apprehension as he followed his father's flipper flick indicating that he should take the starboard window while Warnokur took the one to port.

Topside, meanwhile, Urthblood supervised Saybrook's team in wrestling the gangplank into position. The task turned out to be easier than they'd thought, since the reed-and-branch span was light enough to be lifted from one end while it was extended out over the water. When it was nearly touching the hatchway stump, Saybrook let the bridge fall. The landward end dug into the soft ground and held fast. The opposite end, which seemed at first to have come up short, caught on the roof of the vessel, just beneath the surface. Saybrook pranced out onto the middle of the span, testing it with his weight and then a few cautious jumps.

"Seems sturdy enuff, M'Lord," he called back to Urthblood. "Can't say whether I'd trust it to support you, tho'. What now?"

"We wait for the Flitchaye gas to arrive," the badger announced. "And for Winokur and Warnokur to resurface. I shall be very eager to hear their report."

"You 'n' me both," Log-a-Log said.

The two Redwall otters resurfaced moments later, springing up onto the bank and jogging over to where Urthblood stood. While Winokur shook himself dry and retrieved his habit, Warnokur said, "Sorry, M'Lord, but I'm afraid we may've bolloxed things up. I think those rats might have seen us."

"They should not have been able to," Urthblood said, "if it's darker in the water than it is inside their ship."

"Yes, but we had to get our snouts right up to the glass to make out anything on the other side. Think we gave 'em a proper start, sure 'nuff!"

"Then we must go ahead now!" Log-a-Log urged. "If they know we're here - "

Urthblood silenced him with an upheld paw. "This may not be a problem. They would naturally expect to encounter some otters along a river such as this. Just because they saw ours - if they even did - that would not lead them to suspect they were part of a larger force, or that we are preparing to board them. They will probably assume that Winokur and Warnokur were just curious local beasts."

"I hope you're right." Winokur turned to Log-a-Log. "The good news is that Pirkko definitely is down there. I got a clear look at him before we had to make our getaway."

Log-a-Log clutched at his breast. "My son!"

"How many others were there?" Urthblood asked.

"Oh, I'd say a good score o' captives, with maybe a dozen or so rats besides," answered Warnokur. "There must be more room in that thing than you'd guess lookin' at it from the outside."

"Surprised they were able to navigate it this far upstream," commented Saybrook. "This river must run deep all the way between here 'n' th' sea. Quite a ... hold on, that wasn't there before ... "

Urthblood and the others followed the otter captain's gaze. Out on the river, just upstream of the treestump/hatch, a second object had appeared. Shaped like a thick branch bent crooked at its end, it was slowly turning about in the water, almost like a living creature searching for something. When after several moments the crooked end finally turned their way, it froze, aimed at them like a weapon. The bright silver of the evening sky glinted off the wide lens now revealed to them.

"By my eye!" Saybrook exclaimed. "A glass eye!"

"Up on a pole!" Log-a-Log added.

Saybrook asked his badger master, "M'Lord, there's no chance they could see us through that thing, is there?"

"I would guess that that is precisely its purpose," Urthblood replied, "and there can be no doubt that they now know we're here." He drew his sword and thrust it hilt-first at Saybrook. "Captain, get out to that hatch and see if you can get it open, before they secure it so tight that we won't be able to budge it. Use my sword as a prybar if you must, but get it open!"

"Aye aye!" Saybrook snatched the heavy weapon and pounced across the gangplank to the pirate vessel's hatch, where he immediately set to work.

An approaching bustle of activity from along the upstream bank announced the arrival of more of Urthblood's soldiers from the main camp. Mattoon's search party, returned from their own scouting expedition upriver, led the group, along with Captain Abellon and a few of his mice. A number of the Guosim tagged along, with Lorr the tinker bankvole in their company, curious to see what matter was commanding the attention of their Log-a-Log. Two of Mattoon's fellow weasels each bore a large clay cannister shaped like an hourglass, with a steel cap over each wide end.

"Good," Urthblood nodded at the cannister bearers, "and not a moment too soon. Stand ready with those. We will probably have need of them momentarily."

"What news, My Lord?" Abellon inquired.

"We have found our searats, and their captives. All that remains now is to smoke them out, in a manner of speaking ... if we can."

A few of the newcomers looked on in utter bewilderment as Saybrook stood out in the middle of the swift-running river, to all appearances standing solidly upon the very water, hacking and stabbing at a treestump with Lord Urthblood's sword.

"Uh, what's goin' on here, M'Lord?" Mattoon asked, befuddled.

"You will see presently."

Suddenly Saybrook straightened, and seemed to lift up a lid from out of the riverborn stump. To everybeast's amazement, a rat's claw wielding a curved blade reached up out of the opening, slashing at the otter captain. Saybrook dodged and dispatched the claw's owner with a clean stab down into the fake stump. A scream was heard. Saybrook shifted his weight to keep the hatch held open, motioning frantically to his companions on shore.

"Could use a little help out here, an' double quick!" he yelled. "Got a hive o' angry searats out here, an' they won't stay down fer long!"

Urthblood ordered the two weasels with the clay containers, "Out there quickly, both of you, and throw those cannisters down the hatch. Throw them hard to make sure they shatter properly."

The urgency of the command would brook no questions. Instantly, the weasel pair ran onto the gangplank and out to join Saybrook. Once they got there and could actually peer down into the searat craft, their purpose became much clearer. First one then the other hurled their cannisters down the opening, then raced along the gangway back to the shore.

White vapors began to billow out of the stump/hatch. Saybrook slammed the heavy lid down and rejoined the others.

"Good job, Captain," Urthblood commended the otter.

Saybrook returned the sword to Urthblood. "Luck was with us, M'Lord. That hatch wasn't designed to dog watertight. That big iron fish must be meant to run right below the surface, with the hatch always stickin' up like it is now. Must get pretty damp down there in rough seas."

"Searats are accustomed to getting their footpaws wet." Urthblood gazed out toward the vessel; thin wisps of the white mist were escaping from around the rim of the hatch. "But Tratton would not trust this craft to any but a paw-picked crew of his very best and loyal sailors, probably commanded by one of his most competent captains. With luck, we will be able to take them alive. There should be much that they can tell us."

Log-a-Log edged closer to the badger warrior, concern in his voice. "That smoky white stuff, I reckon that's yer so-called Flitchy gas?"

Urthblood nodded. "Those cannisters contain carefully measured quantities of two liquid extracts which, when mixed, boil into a gas that will render most beasts senseless. The two fluids are kept apart in separate chambers, but mingle when the clay vessels are smashed open."

Lorr the bankvole was intrigued by such a potion. "You don't say, you don't say? Very clever, most ingenious. You must let me have the formula for that, My Lord."

"You seem eager for all of my formulae, friend. Do you anticipate having a need for such a substance?"

"Well, one never knows, it's an uncertain world, isn't it? But my purposes would be more for empirical experimentation, tinkering around with it as it were, I am a tinker by trade don't you know ... "

Log-a-Log broke into the bankvole's dissertation. "This gas-mist o' yers, it ain't dangerous, is it?"

"Only to the very young and the very old, but it is unlikely that our fox slavers would have taken infants or the elderly, since they would hardy make desirable slaves."

"So, it won't hurt my son none?"

"If he was young and healthy, he should awake with nothing worse than a headache."

"I'll hold you to that, Lord. How long you figger afore it takes full effect?"

"The gas works quickly. In a small, enclosed space like that, it should already have done its work. You'll notice none of the searats have tried to climb out since Captain Saybrook rejoined us, even though the way is clear for them to escape."

"Well, then," said Log-a-Log, "let's go get them!"

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The hatch was too narrow for Urthblood to fit through, so he had to wait on the riverbank while Saybrook led a boarding party to investigate the vessel and its passengers. Log-a-Log naturally insisted upon being one of the first into the pirate craft, since his son was there. Urthblood agreed to let Winokur and Warnokur join the boarding team as well, since the two Redwall otters could help Saybrook deal with any searats who might not be completely unconscious. But Lorr, who desperately wanted to inspect the underwater ship up close, and the rest of the Guosim were made to stay ashore with Urthblood. It would be cramped inside the rat vessel, so the party would have to be kept small, and preferably be made up of smaller beasts as much as possible. With this in mind, Urthblood chose Abellon and two of his mice to accompany Log-a-Log and the three otters.

All of the boarders wore damp kerchiefs over their snouts to guard against the residue of the Flitchaye gas that was sure to be lingering within. Saybrook went down first. Even for the streamlined otter, it was a tight squeeze through the hatch. The opening could never have accommodated a beast of Urthblood's massive girth.

There was enough room on the barely-submerged deck of the craft for the others to wait until Saybrook gave the all-clear. The water only came up to the otters' ankles and the others' shins, but Winokur and Warnokur linked paws with Log-a-Log and the mice to make sure their smaller companions didn't lose their footing and slide off the curved roof into the swift currents. The pitch and sway of the vessel under them was slight, but none wished to chance getting thrown into the fast river with the night almost upon them.

On the shore, Lorr was still protesting the unfairness of his exclusion. "I simply must be allowed out there, Lord, I must, I must! A device such this, an iron ship that sails beneath the water's surface, it has never been seen before! There must be instruments and workings on board unlike those of any other sailing vessel. So much to study, so much to learn!"

"There will be time enough for that later, friend Lorr. For now we must make sure that all our enemy has been safely subdued, and that their prisoners are unharmed."

Mattoon said to Urthblood, "M'Lord, Cap'n Halpryn arrived in answer to yer signal fire shortly after you left camp. She's waitin' on yer return. Should I dispatch somebeast to tell her we won't be needin' her?"

"She can wait at the main camp with the others for now. I would prefer that we keep our full strength here, in case we need it."

"Uh, yessir. It's just that, well, y'know, some o' th' troops get a little nervous when yer raptors are around. Never know when they might revert to their old ways an' snatch up one o' the infantry fer a snack ... "

"You know my birds are better trained than that, Captain."

"Uh, yeah, o' course, M'Lord." The weasel captain faded back into the crowd.

Out on the ship, Saybrook poked his head up through the hatch. "C'mon down, matyes, an' join the slumber party, 'cos everybeast down here's slumberin' deep 'n' true!"

"Think we'll need any torches?" Abellon asked.

"Nope. They got some lanterns down 'ere. You can see just fine. Well, mebbe yer eyes might water 'n' sting a bit from that gas, but it's mostly cleared out by now through the open hatch. Wink, Warny, would ya be good deckpaws an' stay up topside t' help th' others down? This ladder might be a touch tricky fer smaller beasties, but between th' three of us, we should be able t' manage it right 'n' proper."

"We're not exactly helpless infants here," Abellon said somewhat indignantly.

But Log-a-Log did the mouse captain one better. "Gerrout o' my way, waterdog!" the shrew chieftain yelled at Saybrook, lunging for the open hatch. "My son's down there!" And with that, Log-a-Log threw himself through the treestump portal, landing right on Saybrook's head.

"Oof! Okay, okay! Down we go, then!"

Winokur and Warnokur grinned at each other, then gestured for the three mice to proceed. "After you, gents," Warnokur said.

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Log-a-Log was too overjoyed by seeing his son again to pay any attention to what was going on with the rest of the boarding party.

The corpse of the rat Saybrook had slain lay at the bottom of the ladder that ran from the hatch to the wood plank floor of the vessel's interior. That creature was truly dead, but the entire floorspace was covered by the still forms of searats and their would-be slaves, knocked out by Urthblood's sleeping gas. There was scarcely room to walk without treading upon somebeast or other.

Warnokur was the last one down. Stepping over the dead rat, he took in his surroundings. "So, this is what an underwater craft looks like. Nice carpeting, tho' it is a bit lumpy."

"Well, those lumps'll be wakin' up soon enuff," said Saybrook, "an' we'd better have figgered out what to do with 'em before then. First things first. Abellon, you 'n' yer mice go help Log-a-Log check on all the prisoners, make sure they're all okay. Me, Warny 'n' Wink'll stand watch over this rabble. Any of 'em start to stir like they're about to awake, an' they'll get an otter fist 'tween the ears."

Starting with Log-a-Log's son Pirkko, the shrew and the three mice went from captive to captive, cutting their bonds and leaning the sleeping forms up against the wall. Thirteen of the rat's prisoners were Guosim shrews, but there were also nine others, mostly mice of various kinds, with a pair of hedgehogs thrown in. All were older children or younger adults, beasts of an age that would provide the searat galleys with many seasons of toil under the whip. Clearly, the rats preferred to enslave creatures who were easier to handle and less likely to cause trouble.

The rescuers worked in the light of two lamps, one fore and one aft, on opposite walls to provide maximum illumination throughout the craft. They were built into the hull, placed high enough so that no rat would accidentally hit its head on the boxy lantern housings. They burned with a steady glow, although together they could still but dimly light the entire ship's interior. No smoke issued from their burning, nor was there any detectable odor of fumes.

The three otters took their time exploring while they watched over the slumbering rats. They momentarily found themselves at the very fore of the compartment, where a rat was slumped over a ship's wheel.

"Hmm. Steering up front. That's something new." Saybrook pushed the unconscious rat to the floor and took his place at the helm. "Guess it would hafta be that way, in a crazy boat like this. See, fellers? From here, the steersrat has a clear view out both front portholes. Gives him a good idea what's ahead, an' even off to th' sides a bit, since they're angled slightly. If he needs a better look, he or a copilot simply steps right up to either window, for an even wider scope of view. Navigatin' this thing must not be that hard, even in a river. Open sea would be child's play."

The two Redwallers were impressed, by both Saybrook's nautical knowledge and the ship itself. "But, how would the steering work?" Warnokur asked. "Don't the rudder still hafta be aft?"

"Probably is." Saybrook glanced down. Since the whole inner hull was curved around like a giant cylinder, the rat builders had installed a secondary floor of wood planking so that the crew would have a level surface underfoot. "I'd bet there's some gadget runnin' under this floor fore to aft, lets 'em control the rudder from up here ... prob'ly some ropes on pulleys, or a system o' jointed steel rods. Actshully, it ain't that different from a standard pirate ship, or any large seagoin' vessel, where the wheel up on the steerin' deck controls the rudder down an' back. This one's just straight back, without havin' to go down none."

"Very impressive. Lessee wot else there is t' see in this thing ... "

They picked their way back towards the others, watchful for any signs that the rats might be starting to revive. Stopping just before the entry ladder, Warnokur reached out for a strange-looking device that hung from the ceiling. "Say, this must be their glass-eye peering gizmo. Let's have a gander ... if I c'n figger out how t' work th' blasted thing." Searching until he found the eyepiece, he closed one eye and put the other up to the lens. "O ho! There's Lorr, an' Cap'n Mattoon, an' Lord Urthblood an' all the rest! Yep, those searats must've got a good look at us. Bet they soiled their tailfur when they saw our little army!"

"Here, lemme, mate ... " Warnokur stepped aside to allow Saybrook a turn at the periscope. The otter captain discovered it could swivel, and spun it slowly all the way around in a circle, scanning the river surface and the opposite bank before returning to the group of his comrades.

"Well, bust me rudder!" he declared, stepping back to give Winokur his turn. "Absolutely amazin'! Steerin' one end of a boat from the other I can fathom, but this here's totally beyond me. Couldn't begin to 'magine how it works."

"I thought it must be something like Lord Urthblood's long glass," Warnokur surmised.

"Yeah, I guess. Well, looks like our friends're nearly finished freein' the prisoners. Let's go see what we need t' do now."

Abellon greeted them with watery eyes. "All these goodbeasts seem fine, just dead to the world," he reported, wiping away tears with his wrist. "Lord Urthblood's sleepy gas sure is effective. It's almost gone from here, but it's still doin' a number on our eyes ... and noses, too," he added, with a sniff through his facemask.

"Yeah," Log-a-Log affirmed, "I'm feelin' it too. Ain't you otters bothered by it none?"

The otters looked at each other quizically. "No," Saybrook replied, "we're all shipshape an' in fine fettle. But then, we're used to swimmin' an' gettin' lotsa floatsam 'n' jetsam in our eyes."

"There's that," Warnokur grinned, "an' also all the hotroot soup we've eaten over the seasons. Takes a lot to make an otter's eyes water!"

"Well, then you fellas can take it from here, 'cos we're close to bein' three blind mice and one blind shrew. Um, it occurs to me, tho' - how're we gonna get these sleepyheads outta here? Unconscious as they are, that's a lot of dead weight to try 'n' wrestle up this ladder an' through a narrow hatchway, even for an otter."

"Reckon we'll just hafta let 'em wake up, an' then climb out themselves," Saybrook said. "Same with th' rats, too ... which means we gotta get 'em properly bound, 'fore they start comin' 'round."

Log-a-Log tossed a length of rope over to the otters. "Here, tie 'em up with th' same bindings they used on their slaves. That'd be poetic justice!"

"Never thought of you shrews as being particularly poetic," Warnokur smiled broadly beneath his kerchief, "but that idea sounds like music to me ears!"


	16. Chapter 42

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Two

After the three mice reported back to the Badger Lord, Urthblood sent two more otters out with extra rope to help tie up the searats and stand watch over them. Log-a-Log stood up top alongside the hatch for a few minutes, breathing deeply of the fresh evening air to clear his head, then went below once more; having nearly lost his son forever, he was reluctant to leave Pirkko's side, even if it meant braving the tart residue of Urthblood's sleeping gas.

The team aboard the searat craft soon had yet another member. Lorr had finally convinced Urthblood to grant him leave to inspect the vessel. The tinker vole was gleefully in his element, running his questing paws and his inquisitive gaze over every square inch of the interior. He produced a number of tools and instruments from his various pockets as he examined the ship, measuring and sampling and estimating and magnifiying and testing, all the while chuckling and muttering to himself like a youngbeast who'd been presented with the ultimate toy.

While the otters watched Lorr's antics with growing amusement, Log-a-Log went among the still-unconscious captives, checking to make sure they were all still breathing regularly. He reported back, "They're all okay. A few of 'em are even startin' t' grunt an' murmur some, so I guess they'll be wakin' up soon. How about this searat scum?"

"None o' these rotters seem t'be stirring yet," Warnokur answered. "Mebbe that sleepy gas hits rats harder'n smaller beasts. So, Cap'n, how many does that give us of the blighters?"

Saybrook did a quick count. "Lessee ... thirteen we hadta tie up, plus the one I slew, so this ship had a crew o' fourteen all told. Makes sense, since there's only a half-dozen bunks aft. Musta slept in shifts. The store of rations would scarcely support that size crew fer a voyage of any length. My guess is they weren't plannin' on feeding these slaves very well on the trip back to Terramort, or wherever they was goin'."

"That's another thing that was a-puzzlin' me," said Log-a-Log. "All these prisoners seem fresh-captured. Where was the slaves they musta already had? Don't see no galley neither, but there must be one, or else this boat wouldn't go nowheres. It sure don't got no sails."

Lorr overheard the shrew chieftain's remarks, and began tugging at Log-a-Log's sleeve, dragging him toward the aft of the cabin. "Funny you should ask about that, I was just inspecting that myself. Something brand new, unless I miss my guess, quite something, yes indeed, you really must see it, yes you must ... "

"Yes, I was lookin' at it before," said Saybrook, "but I wasn't sure what t' make of it. I'd like t' hear yer take on it, Lorr matey."

They all followed the bankvole back through the reviving captives, past the limited bunk and storage space all the way to the very rear of the craft. Here was a giant winch or crankshaft device, taller than Lorr was. The central axle disappeared through the rear bulkhead, as if it were sticking out into the water behind the vessel.

"See here, see here?" Lorr pointed. "Those handles are long enough so that three or four rats could crank it at once. The main shaft goes out through the back. Heavily greased, must see a lot of use, and I know what for, yes I do! A waterscrew, like some mills use, only this one isn't turned by the water, it's turned from in here to stir the water. Like an oar, or a whole bundle of oars, all together in one. The rats crank this shaft, the screw turns, the boat goes! Faster they turn, faster they go! Wouldn't need any slaves, why use slaves when you've got something that can make the labor of four rats equal to dozens of oarsbeasts? By the look of some of these brutes, they had enough muscle power to get them clear across the sea. Brilliant idea, absolutely brilliant! Burns me up, when I see an invention of such genius, and I didn't invent it myself!"

"What burns me up is knowing something like this is in the claws of serats," Saybrook said. "You reckon Tratton's got anymore like this one?"

"Dunno," mumbled Log-a-Log. "But I think Lorr's right, as usual. An' by keepin' their prisoners in the middle, between rats up front an' more stationed back here to run that crank, t'would make them easier to guard. If they started any trouble, they'd be attacked by rats from both sides." He glanced toward some of the wicked-looking curved cutlasses and jagged rapiers piled on the floor, the weaponry that had been stripped from the sleeping searats. "An' I wouldn't've given 'em very good chances."

"Me neither," Saybrook agreed. "This bucket might be a work o' genius, but it's a work of evil if y' ask me. Warny 'n' me only got a look at the front o' this big fish when we were swimmin' outside it. You can bet yer shrimpnets that as soon as it gets light enough tomorrow, every otter in Lord Urthblood's army is gonna want a close swim around this thing's backside, just to get a good look at whatever's out there."

The otter captain headed forward once more. "Well, we got these rats all trussed up properwise, an' yer fella shrews are startin' to come around. Let's start makin' ready to get this gang back topside an' their paws on dry land. I doubt they wanna spend the night in this stinkin' rat's nest."

"Aye," said Log-a-Log, falling into step behind Saybrook. "I don't plan on spendin' a moment longer down here than I have to, myself."

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Young Pirkko was one of the first shrews to come fully awake. His father was right by his son's side, and there was a tearful and joyous reunion that brought a smile to the otters looking on, and even to Lorr, who paused from his mechanical inspection to take in the touching scene. Log-a-Log and Pirkko embraced and sobbed and laughed, holding onto each other as if they would never let go; but at last the older shrew pulled away from his son and stood back.

"Well, spendin' two days on a slave line hasn't sapped yer strength none," Log-a-Log chortled, wiping at his eye with a paw. "You just sit still an' get yer head good 'n' clear while I tend to th' rest. Then we'll all climb outta here an' join the rest of the Guosim on shore."

Pirkko looked around. "Winokur? Warnokur? What're you two doin' here? An' who're these other otters? I don't recognize 'em."

Log-a-Log answered, "Wasn't just yer dear ol' Dad an' his Guosim who came to yer rescue this time, son. These Redwallers are travelin' with a Badger Lord who's got quite an army of his own. That badger's more to credit fer findin' you an' takin' care of these rats than anybeast. If t'weren't for him, alla you'd be spendin' the rest o' yer seasons in some slaverat's rowin' galley."

"Then we owe him our lives." Pirkko felt his way up the inner hull wall until he was standing on his own feet. Log-a-Log started to protest, but Pirkko silenced his father with an upheld paw. "No, I'm feeling recovered, really I am. I wanna help wake up the others. When that commotion broke out around the hatch, an' we saw one o' the rats fall slain, an' then the ship filled up with white smoke, we didn't know what was goin' on. I can't wait to tell everybeast we was rescued by a Badger Lord!"

The younger shrew's enthusiam was not to be denied. Log-a-Log relented, and moments later father and son were going from captive to captive, cheerfully spreading the news as each awoke that they were captives no more.

A gruff voice called down from the open hatch. "Hallo down there! Everything all right?"

Saybrook went to the ladder and looked up, but by now it was too dark outside to see whatbeast it was. "Fine as a fiddle. Who is that, by th' by?"

"Sergeant Kooblall. From Cap'n Perrett's regiment. Lord Urthblood wants t' know if you need any help out here?"

"Ah, a good stout beast, come to our aid! Actshully, Sergeant, we could use a strong pair o' paws topside. This lot's about ready to start comin' up, an' it'd be helpful havin' somebeast up there to lend a paw an' guide 'em across the gangway back to shore."

"Okay. Send 'em up!"

"Aye aye." Saybrook looked to the liberated shrews, mice and hedgehogs. "All righty, who wants to be first up?"

A shrew named Gloff pushed his way forward. "Me! Me! I'll go first!"

"Awright, liddle matey, up y' go, then!" Saybrook ushered the impatient shrew over to the ladder, and Gloff commenced climbing without further prompting. "Who's next?"

Pirkko guided forward one of the hedgehogs, a young maid just shy of adulthood. "Sir, this 'hog lady's been mighty terrified by this whole adventure. She should go next."

"No sooner said than done. Here y' go, lassie!" Saybrook showed the hogmaid over to the rungs, but she just stood there uncertainly. "Something wrong, m' dear?" Saybrook asked.

"Don't like ladders," she murmured in a soft, shy voice. "Make me dizzy."

"Well, this 'ere's just a short, liddle ladder. Tell you what, I'll climb up right behind you, so you won't have to worry 'bout fallin'. You just keep yer eyes on the rung in front of you, an' take 'em one at a time. I'll be there to catch you if you slip, so you'll be perfectly safe. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered in a voice that could hardly be heard, and set her paws on the lowest set of rungs. Above her, the shrew Gloff was still struggling to gain the top hatch, slowed by the fact that this ladder had been designed for rats and not smaller creatures. When she was three rungs off the floor, Saybrook set a footpaw upon the lowest one, gripping the ladder on either side of her short legs.

"There y' go," he coaxed. "Easy goin' ... naught to - "

"Yah!" The cry came from above, as Gloff suddenly fell backward into the hogmaid. Gloff yelled again, this time in pain, as his backside connected with her headspikes. She, in turn, was knocked free from the ladder by the tumbling shrew and fell back into Saybrook, her tensed spines catching the otter captain full in the belly. The three of them landed in a tangled heap at the bottom of the ladder.

Log-a-Log chastised his fellow shrew. "Gloff, you clumsy oaf! You could've injured somebeast badly!"

"There's a weasel up there!" Gloff declared, pointing up toward the dark hatchway.

"Actshully, Sergeant Kooblall's a ferret," Saybrook winced, gingerly peeling the young hedgehog off his front. "Ooo, I've been prickled!"

Log-a-Log was clearly chagrined. "Uh, oh ... did I ferget to mention to all of you that this badger Urthblood's got some vermin in his army? Not t' worry, they're goodbeasts. They're on our side ... "

"Now 'ee tells us!" Gloff complained, rubbing at his tail.

The hedgehog maid looked to Saybrook with concern. "Oh, dear. Did I hurt you verra much, Mr. Otter sir?"

"Oh, just a few pinpricks, m' dear. Takes a lot to get through this thick hide of mine. Nothing to worry yer spikey li'l head about. Seen lots worse up in the Northlands. Now, shall we try this again? You there, Gloff matey, have another go at the ladder ... only this time, we'll wait 'til ye're all the way out before sendin' anybeast else after you!"

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Many torches were lit along the shore. The captives had all been liberated from their underwater prison without incident, and now sat with their rescuers on the riverbank. The presence of so many armed vermin mystified them and made them a little uneasy, but Log-a-Log assured them that these weasels, stoats and ferrets were all right, retelling the tale of how they had assisted in the liberation of the slaves. The Guosim leader, speaking as the chieftain of their clan, was able to put their fears to rest.

After a short time of relaxation, Log-a-Log announced that he was taking his son and the rest back upstream to rejoin the main encampment of the Guosim, since the freed prisoners were eager to see all their family and friends. The seven mice and two hedgehogs went with them too, for their best chance of being reunited with their own loved ones lay with the large band of traveling shrews. Also, although the thought was left unspoken, it was clear that they would be more comfortable in the presence of shrews than with the grim, red-armored badger and his vermin warriors.

"Let's get goin', Dad," Pirkko urged Log-a-Log. "I can't wait to see some familiar shrew faces, sing some shrew songs, hear some shrew arguments, an' put this whole nasty episode behind me."

"Hear, hear!" Gloff chimed in. "And I hope I never hafta look at another ugly rat fer th' rest of my life!"

"Uh, well, there's something else I gotta tell you folks," Log-a-Log said, as he led the group away toward the twin encampment, where over a hundred of Urthblood's rats awaited them along with the Guosim. "Don't want you fallin' off any more ladders, Gloff ... "

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The new day dawned with gentle tones of rose, muted birdsong, sparse sprinklings of dew and cool, clean air kept fresh by the swift river currents. Almost there was a hint of the approaching autumn, but when the sun finally did rise, its bright warmth was enough reminder that full summer still held sway over Mossflower country.

The searats had begun to awaken shortly after midnight. A rotating watch of otters and Abellon's swordmice stood guard down with the rats, just to make sure they didn't try to undo each other's bonds and retake the ship.

Urthblood was frustrated. He desperately wanted to inspect the searat vessel himself, but that was impossible due to the narrowness of the hatch. Instead , he would just have to rely on the detailed reports of Lorr and his own troops who could closely explore the craft both inside and, in the case of the otters, outside as well.

The survivors of the searat crew, however, were another matter. Those the badger warrior could examine firstpaw ... and he wanted to waste no time in doing so.

Abellon dropped through the hatch and down onto the wood floor. All thirteen rats immediately looked his way as the mouse captain struck a pose of authority, flanked by the two otter guards. The captive searats had all been moved forward of the ladder, kept together in one spot so they'd be easier to watch.

"Okay, listen up, you sodden fleabags!" Abellon addressed them in a commanding tone. "You are now the prisoners of Lord Urthblood of Salamandastron and the Northlands. He claims this vessel as his own. Whether you live or die is his choice, and his alone.

"Now, each of you will be released from your bonds one at a time, so that you can climb this ladder and get to shore. Once there, your paws will be tied again. The first rat who gives us any trouble will be slain instantly, and any who are still down here will be left to drown as we scuttle the ship."

"Scuttle her?" one searat cried out, confused. "You jus' said yer Lord claimed this ship fer himself."

"That he does ... which means it's his to do with as he sees fit. Think about it, you thickheads - what good is this tub to a badger who can't even fit through its hatch?"

This gave the rats pause. More than one glanced nervously at the body of their slain shipmate. They had no doubt that their badger captor would turn more of them into corpses without a second thought.

"Yeah, well, he'd 'ave trouble makin' this boat sink," another rat declared. "It's got pumps under th' floor that pumps out any water what gets in."

"Oh, does it really?" Abellon arched an eyebrow. "That's just the kind of thing Lord Urthblood would like to know. Maybe you sorry lot might be of some use after all."

The rat who'd revealed the secret of the pumps received a two-footed kick from one of his fellows. "Good goin', Skidpaw! Tellin' state secrets to th' enemy!"

"Don't worry," Abellon assured them, "you'll all have a chance to speak with Lord Urthblood personally. He'll insist upon it. Now, which of you bilgescum's the leader of this rabble?"

Norat spoke up, although most averted their anxious gazes from the proud mouse warrior's probing stare.

"Oh, now suddenly the cat's got all your tongues? No matter. Lord Urthblood will find out soon enough." Abellon pointed out the nearest rat to the two otters. "Let's start with him, boys. Cut his ropes and watch him closely as we bring him up. We don't want to keep Lord Urthblood waiting."

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Abellon stepped up to Urthblood. "They're all out, Lord. Didn't give us any trouble, once I laid down your law to 'em. What do you want done with them?"

The mouse and badger stood a short way up the riverbank from the submarine. The thirteen rats were grouped together where the gangway met the shore, their paws once more securely tied so that they could neither flee nor wield a weapon.

But Urthblood's gaze lay upon the waters around the craft, and the numerous otter heads that showed above the surface. Winokur and Warnokur were out there with Saybrook and the others, as curious as anybeast about the strange craft.

"No Redwaller should see what I may have to do to some of those rats. My methods of interrogation would no doubt seem brutal to them. But there are things I must know."

His gaze travelled back to the prisoners in question. At last he said, "Tell Captain Mattoon to pick half a dozen weasels, ferrets and stoats to help him escort these rats deep into the woods, far enough so that their shouts would not likely carry to this shore. He will know which are best suited to such detail. He will wait with them until I arrive."

"Aye, sir." Abellon heaved a silent sigh of relief. The mouse captain had witnessed a few of his master's interrogations firstpaw and heard accounts of many others; he had no desire to witness this one. "They shouldn't have to walk too far," he said helpfully. "These rushing waters will help drown out any screams."

"Nevertheless, they should be far enough away so that Winokur and Warnokur will not be likely to come across us if they should happen to take a stroll in the nearby woods."

"I'll tell Mattoon to keep that in mind ... and I'll have Saybrook keep those two Redwallers occupied. Otters are great storytellers, and I've got a few yarns of my own. Between the two of us, we should be able to keep them from wandering away from the riverside. If they ask outright, I'll just tell them you'd rather not be disturbed while you're, uh, speaking with the rats."

"Very good," Urthblood nodded. "Once again, you remind me why I made you captain."

"Uh, thank you, Lord. Um, what about the dead rat down in the ship? Now that your sleep vapors have all cleared out, it's starting to get a little ripe down there, if you know what I mean."

"Haul him up and throw him overboard. Give his body to the river, once you've searched it again to make sure there are no documents or charts hidden on him. He can feed the fish. He was a harmful beast while he lived; maybe in death he might actually serve some good."

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Urthblood watched Mattoon's selected squad lead the terrified searats away into the woods, marking well the path they took so he would have no trouble following and finding them. If the expressions on the pirates' faces were any indication, some of them at least must have had an inkling of what lay in store for them.

All morning, runners had been going back and forth between the two camps, relaying status reports. The Guosim at the main encampment had stayed up nearly through to dawn, celebrating the return of their stolen comrades and kin, and were now sleeping the day away. A few more otters had come here from the main camp upon hearing about the ship that ran beneath the water. Except for Mattoon, Saybrook and Abellon, all the other captains and the vast majority of Urthblood's force were still at the upstream encampment with the Guosim, awaiting word from their master on when to move out, and where to.

Taking one last report, and satisfied that all was well at both locations, Urthblood stalked into the woods after Mattoon's squad. He was not to return until much later in the day.


	17. Chapter 43

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Three

Back at Redwall, a world away from the conflict between Badger Lords and searats, or feuds among the wandering shrews of the Guosim, the Abbeyfolk celebrated another fine summer day that saw young Cyrus continue to improve. Spirits rose higher with each passing hour, and a nonstop parade of visitors streamed in and out of the Infirmary to give the novice mouse their best wishes.

"I realize all of Redwall must pull together in times like this," Sister Aurelia said to Abbess Vanessa, glancing across the room to where Cyrus lay, "but I think this is beginning to be too much of a good thing. Cyrus may seem alert and bright-eyed, but he still needs a lot of rest. I'm going to tell everybeast except Cyril to leave him be for awhile."

"It is nearly lunchtime," Vanessa said. "I'll encourage all our friends here to take their meal outside. That should give Cyrus a good break from all this activity. I'll have Friar Hugh send up some food for Cyril and Cyrus. You, too, unless you'd care to join us outside?"

Aurelia shook her head. "Now that Machus is finally catching up on his sleep, I think one of us should stay here, just to be safe."

After breakfast that morning, Vanessa and Aurelia had ganged up on Machus, forcing the bleary-eyed swordfox to admit that he'd caught no more than bare snatches of sleep here and there in the days since Cyrus had been injured. They practically had to banish him from the Infirmary and order him to his room before he would promise to try to get at least a few hours' straight slumber.

Sister Aurelia went on, "It gladdens my heart more than I can say that Cyrus is eating again. For a youngbeast like him, appetite is an important sign of the true state of his health. He's even started asking for solid food, although Machus said he should be kept to mild soups and oatmeal for another day or two. Maybe we can risk giving him some soft flowerbread for dinner this evening ... although I know what Cyrus will probably say to that: 'Flowerbread is for babies!'"

The two mouse ladies shared a chuckle over that. "Yes," Vanessa agreed, "he probably would. Creatures that age don't like to be treated like infants. But I think Cyrus deserves a little babying after what he's been through. Just check with Machus first to make sure we don't feed Cyrus anything we really shouldn't."

"I will, just as soon as he wakes up."

Vanessa clapped her paws to get the attention of everybeast in the Infirmary. "Okay, Cyrus has had enough excitement for this morning. We don't want to tire him out. I suggest we all head down to the lawns to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and see what Friar Hugh has whipped up for lunch. Sister Aurelia will let us know when Cyrus is up to having more visitors. Come along, come along!"

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Arlyn was the last to leave, since Cyrus found the old Abbot's presence quite comforting, flattered that so esteemed a figure would devote such attention to him. Arlyn lingered with Cyril alongside Cyrus's bed, in part because the recovering young mouse seemed reluctant to see all his friends depart.

"I don't care what Machus and Sister Aurelia say," he protested, "I'm almost completely better! I don't feel at all weak or tired ... well, maybe just a little weak, but that's only 'cos I've been lying in this bed for three days!"

Cyrus was sitting up in his bed, leaning against propped-up pillows, the covers thrown back owning to the warmth of the day. He'd been provided with a lightweight nightshirt to wear over his bandages, just so that he wouldn't be totally unclothed when the inevitable press of well-wishers came to visit him. The loose garment was also convenient, easily lifted up when Aurelia or Machus had to check on his dressings, or change them.

"Why, I bet I could get up and walk around better'n Sister Aurelia could, but she won't let me! Why can't I go outside with everybeast else and have lunch with them?"

"Because," Aurelia said pointedly as she drifted over from across the room, "I said so. You're all sewn up, inside and out, and I don't want you doing anything that might strain your stitches. I don't even like the idea of you sitting up all crosslegged and twisted like you are now. Put your legs out straight, and lie back on your pillows properly. This isn't a sleepover!"

"No, it feels more like a prison," Cyrus grumbled petulently, as he reluctantly assumed the position Aurelia had ordered. Even lying still, her young patient seemed to radiate restlessness.

Aurelia shook her head as she straightened the turned-down bedcovers. "Poor Cyrus. I know how hard it must be for you to lie there on such a beautiful summer day as this. Remember, I was your age once, and not all that many seasons ago, either. Never easy for a youngbeast who wants to take on the world to stay abed until they're properly fit and recovered, but as long as you're my patient, that's exactly what you're going to do!"

"Aw, Sister Aurelia, I don't wanna take on the world, I just wanna get up and walk around a bit! And why'd you 'n' the Abbess send away alla my friends? I don't feel sleepy, an' I'll be bored with nobeast to talk to. Can't at least Cyril and Abbot Arlyn stay?"

"I was planning on letting Cyril stay, considering he hasn't left the Infirmary since you came here and it would probably take Monty's whole otter crew to dislodge him from your bedside. As for Abbot Arlyn, well, he and the Abbess are the only ones at Redwall who outrank me even in my own Infirmary, so he can remain if that's his wish."

"If you want me to stay, Cyrus, I'll happily do so," Arlyn smiled.

"I'd like it if Mr. Geoff could be here too. I haven't seen him since breakfast yesterday. I miss him. I miss helping him read through the histories. I hope my getting hurt hasn't held him up too much with his search through the archives ... "

"Oh, now don't you worry about that for one moment, Cyrus," said Aurelia. "Those archives aren't going anywhere. They'll wait until you're completely fit again."

"If you enjoy reading the records so much," Arlyn offered, "maybe Geoff and I can bring some up here, and you can read them in bed."

"Oh, no," Sister Aurelia piped in. "I don't want this mouse doing one lick of work until he's fully recovered."

"But reading isn't work!" Cyrus protested. "It's fun!"

"And it's something that will keep him occupied while he stays in bed," Arlyn said to the healer mouse. "I would think you'd welcome anything that might quell his restlessness."

"Wellll ... okay," Aurelia relented. "And I'm sure Geoff will be glad to get out of those dusty cellars for awhile. Just as long as he doesn't bring any of that dust up here with him. One good sneeze and Cyrus could rupture his sutures."

"I'll make sure he thoroughly shakes out anything he brings up," Arlyn assured her. "I agree with you about getting Geoff out of those tunnels. Why, ever since he heard Droge singing that silly little Sea Song, he's been spending almost every waking moment down there." The old mouse stood and stretched. "Let me go get him right now. I'm sure he'll welcome the chance to move his work up here, where he can get some fresh air through the Infirmary window and help keep Cyrus company."

As he started for the door, Cyrus called out after him, "Oh, Abbot Arlyn, could you please tell Friar Hugh to send me some real food? I'm hungry, and I'm getting sick of porridge and oatmeal."

"Belay that, Abbot!" Sister Aurelia said. "Machus ordered that Cyrus have only soft foods until that fox says otherwise. The Friar knows what's allowed and what isn't."

"But, Sister Aurelia! I'm hungry!"

"Well, maybe later, if Machus gives his okay, you can have a little flowerbread with your dinner."

"Flowerbread? Aw, that's for babies!"

00000000000

The clop of Abbot Arlyn's sandals echoed faintly through the dim tunnel corridor. Up ahead he could see the wan pool of light which would be Geoff working amongst the archive stacks. Already Arlyn could catch a whiff of the nose-tickling drying powder. Sister Aurelia was right; Geoff would have to be very careful not to bring any of that residue up to the Infirmary with him. Cyrus was much more sensitive to the powder than either of the older mice. While Aryln had his doubts that a sneeze or two would put Cyrus in any real danger, it was best not to take any chances.

Arlyn found Geoff sitting at the table, staring down at an ancient parchment clutched in his paws. The recorder mouse didn't even glance up as the Abbot came over to him. Arlyn stood opposite Geoff for several moments, not wanting to disturb him, since the historian seemed to be unusually rapt in what he was reading.

As the moments passed and Geoff still made no move to acknowledge the other's presence, Arlyn studied Geoff's expression more closely. He realized then that Geoff's eyes were fixed upon a single point rather than moving back and forth as they would be if he were actually reading the words upon the parchment. His gaze seemed unfocused, almost as if he were in some kind of trance.

Concerned, Abbot Arlyn cleared his throat. "Uh, Geoff? What is that you've got there?"

This seemed to break the spell. Geoff slowly looked up at Arlyn. But his expression was still peculiar.

"I've found it," he said.

"Oh?" Arlyn brightened. Geoff's attitude had started to worry him, but it was understandable now, if he'd made some important discovery. "What is it? Some clue to what we've been looking for?"

"Not a clue. The answer." Geoff stood, still holding the parchment. "We haven't been able to find anything because there's nothing here to find. Not about Urthblood."

"Um ... " Arlyn hadn't expected that. Not after all the work Geoff had put into this project. "You don't mean to say you're giving up on the archive search?"

Geoff smiled and shook his head, becoming more his old self again. "It's not like that. I'm not quitting out of discouragement. I've actually found something that proves we won't find anything."

"Er, isn't that a bit of a contradiction?"

"You'll understand once I explain it all to you. And I owe it all to Droge and that silly song of his. And Cyrus too, for that comment he made about the Abbey founders not foreseeing General Ironbeak. If not for those two youngsters, I'd still be utterly lost and without a clue."

"Well, Cyrus has been asking after you. I think he's a little disappointed that you haven't visited him more since he's woken up. He's very fond of you, you know. That young lad looks up to you, and you really ought not to let him down."

Geoff's face fell. "Yes, I'll admit I've been remiss in spending time with Cyrus. But I'm afraid I'll have to put him off for just a little longer. I must call a council of the Abbey leaders immediately, to inform you all of what I've found."

"Let me help you round them up, then," Arlyn volunteered. "They're probably all out on the lawns now, enjoying their lunch. We can convene the meeting as soon as the mealtime is over."

"Goodness, is it that late already? It's easy to lose track of time down here." Geoff stepped out from behind the table, parchment in paw. "I guess I should join them for a bite or two ... and perhaps a quick trip up to the Infirmary to visit Cyrus. But we must hold the council as soon afterwards as possible."

Abbot Arlyn ushered Geoff past him and then followed back up the tunnel toward Cavern Hole. The old mouse realized that there was still something of a haunted look around the historian, and wondered anew what Geoff might have read on that parchment that could have affected him so.

"And another thing," Geoff added. "Under no circustances should Machus or Lady Mina be allowed at this council. I might have some things to say about Lord Urthblood that I'm sure they wouldn't like hearing."

00000000000

When Vanessa heard the urgency in Geoff's request for a council, she said they may as well get right to it. And so, while everybeast else finished their lunch up on the sunny lawns, Vanessa, Arlyn, Alexander, Montybank, Foremole and Maura joined Geoff around the big table in Cavern Hole.

"Lady Mina was pressing me about whether she ought to be included here," Alex told them. "She even asked whether she should go wake Machus. I assured her that this was a private matter among the regular Redwallers. It was very awkward, telling her she wasn't invited. But you insisted that what you had to tell us might not be appropriate for her to hear, Geoff."

"Um, yes, you probably did the right thing, even if it did put you on the spot a bit," Geoff concurred. "I think my revelation may have made her a little uncomfortable. Machus too."

"Well, Geoff, let's hear it," said Alexander. "We're all here."

"It all started the day Cyrus was wounded," the recorder mouse began. "He was helping me in the archives, and the subject came up about how the ancient Abbey leaders seemed able to foresee some of the crises to come in later generations, such as Matthias needing the sword of Martin to fight Cluny, or Slagar taking Redwall's youngsters away to Malkariss. Cyrus asked casually why they hadn't foreseen General Ironbeak. He thought it was just an idle question, but it hit me like a ton of bricks. Right away I was struck by the sense that Cyrus had stumbled upon something very important. I myself, in all the tales that I have heard told of those days over the seasons, could not remember anything to suggest that Ironbeak had been prophecized by the Abbey founders, or that they'd left any clues that might help us against that particular enemy. Of course, I could not trust mere memory on so vital a point, so the first thing I did was to very carefully read through all the accounts of those days that John Churchmouse had written down. Sure enough, I could find no mention of any warning about Ironbeak left by the the Abbey founders."

"Perhaps there was," Arlyn suggested, "and it was just missed? Those were pretty hectic times, with Matthias off questing after his son Mattimeo, and Redwall under siege from Ironbeak. Some small clue might very easily have been overlooked."

Geoff shook his head. "I don't think so, Abbot. I believe the Abbey founders genuinely failed to foresee General Ironbeak. And I believe I now know why."

His audience was rapt. Vanessa leaned forward expectantly. "Go on, Geoff."

"After General Ironbeak was vanquished, we learned from the survivors of his flock that his chief advisor had been a crow named Mangiz. A seer crow, whose gift of prophetic visions Ironbeak used to plot his actions. When I first read this in the journals, I found it very interesting, but its true importance escaped me.

"Then, I happened to overhear Droge singing the old Sea Song that all Redwall children seem to pick up at one time or another. I'm sure you all know the one I'm talking about ... " Geoff recited, off the top of his head:

"The Sea, o hi! The Sea

The Sea along the shore

Brother Sea, fine Brother Sea

Sail creatures from your door."

"Oh, yes," Maura chortled. "That spiky little scamp's been driving me crazy with it. Sings it over and over, and now he's got all his friends doing it too. May my strength preserve me!"

"I used to drive you crazy with that song myself when I was a child, Maura," old Arlyn said, "as I'm sure you recall. It's been around forever. Although I seem to remember the words as being somewhat different."

"Bo hurr, oi think thurr be more'n one vershun," Foremole said. "Oi wunner which one be roight?"

"None of them are," said Geoff. "It's not a children's verse at all, and it's not about the sea either. Oh, sure, that's what it's become, over the course of more generations than I care to ponder. But the song we know today is based upon a verse that must be nearly as old as Redwall itself."

He gingerly picked up the brittle and musty piece of parchment that lay before him on the table. "I ran across this on the very first day of our archive search. It was inserted inside the front cover of one of the very oldest journals. I had skimmed it at the time and then moved on, not really understanding it. But it must have stuck in some back corner of my mind, because the moment I heard Droge singing the Sea Song, I knew I'd read something very like it, but not like it at all."

"I'm ... I'm afraid you've lost me," said Vanessa.

"It's the words, Nessa," Geoff explained. "The words of the Sea Song only sound like the words of this older verse, especially if you're only half-listening, but the words themselves are completely different."

"I think I know what you're getting at," Arlyn said. "I'm sure we all have the Sea Song clear in our heads. Let's have you read that verse aloud, and we'll no doubt be able to hear what you're talking about."

"Yes, of course. There are actually four verses here. Two are written on the back; I didn't even discover those until just this morning. It's only the first verse that's the basis for the Sea Song, but I'll read them all, since I feel the whole thing is very important." Geoff cleared his throat and began:

"The Seer hides the Seer

From seers gone before

Prophecy blinds prophecy

Veils future evermore.

Where the Prophet walks

No prophet past may see

The power of his presence

Eclipses what will be.

The path of time lies open

Along its span of years

But where the Prophet stands

The future disappears.

No warning can be given

For ills that may befall

During times unseen

Where the Shadow falls."

For long moments nobeast spoke, as they all disgested and mulled over what Geoff had read. Alexander's bushy tail twitched in agitated contemplation, and Foremole scratched at his head with a digging claw.

"Oh, my," Arlyn said, breaking the silence at last. "Now I know why you looked that way when I found you down in the archives."

"It all sounds very dire," Maura admitted, "but I confess I've never been very good at word games or verse. Guess I'm just too practical-minded. What does it mean?"

"I find it pretty straightforward, and not all that cryptic." Geoff glanced down at the parchment. "What I think the author of this verse was trying to tell us is that there are times when prophecy won't work, where the future is closed to prophetic sight. And it gives the reason: one prophet cannot foresee another prophet who comes later, or look into the events of that later prophet's life. If this is true, it explains why our founders never warned us about Ironbeak. His counselor was a seer himself. The visionary power of Mangiz would have cloaked his master Ironbeak from any past prophet's future sight. The early Redwall leaders could not have known about Ironbeak, because his very existence would have been veiled from their vision."

Monty gave a low whistle of amazement. "That's well nigh unbelievable, Geoff matey."

"But, our founders must have known something," Vanessa said. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have left us with any warning at all about the limitations of prophecy."

Geoff shrugged. "Perhaps they looked forward to certain times and could see only blackness, or a gray void ... or a shadow, like it says in the verse. Maybe they couldn't see the times of the coming prophets themselves, but could see the results of those times, and knew there must be some tumultuous events that were hidden from them."

"Tumultuous events, eh?" Vanessa echoed. "Like this 'greatest of all crises' that Urthblood says may soon be upon us."

"Which brings us right up to the present," said Geoff. "If Mangiz really did conceal Ironbeak from our forebears, then naturally they could not have foreseen Urthblood either. The visit by his entire army to Redwall would have been cloaked by his power of prophecy. And if he plays any major part in some war or upheaval to come, that too would have been beyond the ability of Martin the Warrior or Abbess Germaine to predict, even though it might affect all lands. Which is why I propose to end my search of the archives. There simply won't be anything there to find about these times. There can't be. This document proves it."

"This raises some interesting questions," said Arlyn. "Would Lord Urthblood's power obscure him alone, or does it also extend to the creatures he has met or known? Will his one vist to Redwall hide this entire period of our history from our forerunners, or is his shadow lifted from our home now that he has departed?"

"He still has troops here," Geoff reminded them. "We're a part of his plans now. I would guess that his prophetic veil hangs over us still, and perhaps for a long time to come."

"Even more than Redwall," said Vanessa, "what about the rest of the lands? He's told us he has traveled very widely, and even spent some time at sea. Can it be that every place he has visited in his life, every creature he has ever been in contact with, will as a result have been hidden to prophets of earlier generations?"

"And we badgers live a long time," Maura said. "As much as four times as long as mice and other woodland creatures."

"Which could mean," Arlyn picked up, "that an entire period of Mossflower history would have been forever closed to our ancestors. We may indeed be facing a time of unparalleled war and strife, and there would have been no way for those who came before to have left any warning for us."

"It may go far beyond even that." Geoff scanned the parchment. "There are hints here that our founders might not have been able to glimpse any events at all after the coming of Urthblood. The last line of the first verse in particular: 'Veils future evermore.' But there are others. The second verse begins, 'Where the Prophet walks, no prophet past may see.' Now, does that mean that no prophet of the past can see those times, or that no prophet would be able to see past them at all? The exact meaning is hazy. And skipping down to the end of the third verse: 'Where the Prophet stands, The future disappears.' It's also interesting to note that most of the time the word 'prophet' is capitalized, as if referring to one in particular. Perhaps this verse was written with Urthblood in mind. In any event, there seems to be a strong possibility that our founders' vision might not have been able to penetrate through Urthblood's barrier to any times following ours. They could see only so far into Redwall's future, and we are now past that point."

"Which would mean that we're on our own," said Vanessa. "Never again can we expect help from those who came before us."

"Not in their prophecies," Arlyn quickly put in. "But I am confident that the spirit of Martin watches over us still, and always will. Perhaps, once Urthblood no longer walks this earth, Martin will give us new prophecies to leave for our descendants."

Vanessa said, "Well, I for one feel as if my entire world has been turned upside down. If our founders truly were incapable of seeing any events past these times, it's ... it's like the end of an age. The First Age of Redwall, now come to an end. Which means destiny has chosen us as the stewards to usher in the Second Age of our Abbey. What lies ahead we cannot guess. We can only meet these challenges as best we can, and hope to prevail against evil just as Redwall has always done."

"What bothers me," said Geoff, "is that Urthblood comes from a long line of Salamandastron Badger Lords who have a deep history of omens and prophecies. They would know more of such matters than anybeast. He must have suspected what effect he would have if he came here. So why did he?"

"What choice did he have?" Alexander responded. "He foresaw a great crisis, and felt we had to be warned. Remember, he's not just spreading news of his dire prophecy; he's working to try to change it, and he will need our help to do that. For all that's been said here, I haven't heard anybeast suggest that maybe Lord Urthblood isn't doing exactly what our founders would have wanted. An alliance between Redwall and Salamandastron makes sense, in times of peace or war. I think it's folly to question his character, just on the basis of some quirk of prophecy over which he has no control."

Geoff addressed his old squirrel friend. "That certainly was not my purpose in calling this council, Alex. I wished only to explain why our founders could not have left us any clue about this coming crisis, and why I've decided to suspend my search of the archives. I'll admit, there are many questions that remain unanswered. But as for Urthblood's motives, there are better judges of character than I at this table, and I doubt any of us can say for sure what goes on in his mind, or his heart."

"I tend to agree with Alex," offered Maura. "If some monumental crisis is truly looming on our horizon, what better ally could we ask for than a Badger Lord of Salamandastron, who commands an army the likes of which has never been seen? And as for this being the start of a new age, well, hasn't Lord Urthblood said as much himself? He's working to end ways that are far older than even Redwall, bad ways that have creatures pitted against each other in constant war and strife. I would gladly call foxes, weasels and rats friends if we could all share a peace where each respects the other. Lord Urthblood seeks to create such a peace, and I for one think we should give him all the help that we can. We are unsettled because our predecessors were blinded to these times, but that does not necessarily mean calamity lies ahead. A new age? If Urthblood succeeds, it could be a golden age that our ancestors dared never dream or hope might come to pass."

"Yes," old Arlyn conceded, "but what trials will we have to endure before we reach that golden age?"

"It will be worth it," Maura replied with confidence, "if it means many generations after ours can enjoy peace and plenty."

"Still, there are questions," Vanessa said. "How does this conflict between Urthblood and Urthfist fit into all of this? That can only end badly, unless Winokur has unqualified success at playing peacemaker. If only there were some way to talk to that otter right now, so we could get his feelings about all that he has seen on his march with Urthblood so far. They must be almost to Salamandastron by now. I do hope he is all right. I wonder what kind of experiences he's been having on his journey?"


	18. Chapter 44

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Four

Urthblood's army at that moment was not nearly as close to Salamandastron as Vanessa supposed. Their successful detour through the south of Mossflower to retrieve the Guosim's stolen kin had already put them a full day behind schedule, and they had half a day's march ahead of them just to regain their westward path. They should have been well onto the Western Plains by now, perhaps all the way to the foothills at the southern end of the mountain range that separated Mossflower from the coastlands.

But Urthblood could hardly begrudge the fates for this delay. With the rescue of Log-a-Log's son, he'd opened the door to forging a strong bond and alliance with the Guosim shrews. And the discovery that the searat king Tratton now had underwater craft was of vital importance. In the ages-old struggle between the Badger Lords of Salamandastron and their searat foes, this was a new and terrible weapon that could raise the stakes of the conflict immensely. Tratton would have held a tremendous advantage if he'd been able to keep the existence of his new craft from Urthblood; now, the advantage belonged to the badger warrior.

Winokur, Warnokur and Saybrook were discussing just these matters, on the riverbank near the achored rat submarine. They'd just emerged from their latest swim around the astounding vessel. They had discovered that the propulsion device behind the craft was a circular arrangement of four giant steel blades, like a colossal iron flower, rather than any system of oars, or the waterscrew that Lorr had envisioned. That the searats had a new method of propulsion to go with their new type of ship was yet one more piece of information Urthblood would be eager to learn.

"I still can't believe a buncha stinky searats could build somethin' like this," Saybrook commented, sunning himself dry as he stood on the bank regarding the craft. "I don't reckon even an otter could've designed such a boat ... if you can even call it a boat. Wonder where nasty ol' Tratton got th' notion fer it. Buidlin' an' testin' it must've been a chore an' a half."

"Boggles th' mind, Cap'n, an' that it does," agreed Warnokur, then turned to glance inland toward the woods. "Hey, here comes Lord Urthblood an' his jolly crew. Shore been gone long 'nuff. Well, let's go hear wot 'ee's got to tell."

The Badger Lord emerged into the full sunshine from the distant forest fringe. Mattoon's squad of weasels, stoats and ferrets preceded him. They all looked physically tired, with dirty paws and sweaty clothes. Most carried shovels, which appeared to have seen good use. Their eyes were hooded, and they avoided the gazes of the others creatures waiting on the bank.

No rats were with them.

Urthblood called Saybrook and Abellon over to join him and the weasel captain; the two Redwallers tagged along.

"I have learned all I can here," he announced to his commanders. "Send word to the main encampment upstream to break camp and march down here to join us. I want to be underway for Salamandastron once more before the sun is down. But first, I wish to have a meeting with the Guosim and all of my captains, to discuss what has happened here. We will convene at this spot, and afterwards start north until we pick up our former trail."

Mattoon dipped his head toward Urthblood. "I'll get my fastest runner right on it, M'Lord." The weasel excused himself and backed away to do his master's bidding.

Winokur was looking this way and that, casting his gaze about for the searat prisoners. "Excuse me, My Lord, but, um ... where are those pirates you took into the woods this morning?"

"They were of no use to me," Urthblood replied calmly. "When I was finished questioning them, I gave them the end they deserved."

"You ... killed them?" the young otter said in disbelief. Warnokur laid a cautionary paw on his son's shoulder.

"Would you rather I'd let them loose in Mossflower so they could continue terrorizing and murdering goodbeasts? I could not have taken them with me to Salamandastron - they would have slowed us down too much. And if I'd turned them over to the Guosim, they would have met the same fate."

"Yes, but ... they were your bound prisoners! You had them at your mercy!"

"My mercy does not extend to such creatures. If it did, the Northlands would still be wild today, and I would have been destroyed long ago by my own kindness."

"Yes, but ... but ... " Winokur still could not believe that Urthblood had executed the searats when he had them unarmed and helpless. It was so foreign to the Redwall way, to everything Winokur had been brought up to believe in.

Urthblood's level gaze bore into the novice otter. "I have listened to their voices. I have looked through their eyes into their evil and diseased souls. And I saw the futures that they would have had if I'd allowed them to live. Believe me, there was no redemption for those beasts. It was for the best."

The badger turned away. Winokur was about to press the matter, but Saybrook joined Warnokur in taking the youngster aside. "Leave this alone, friend," the otter captain urged. "I know it ain't the Redwall way, but we're not at Redwall anymore, and these're beasts who'd destroy yer home an' yer way of life without battin' an eye. Naught to be gained by naysayin' Lord Urthblood now. He did what he hadta, an' it's on him now. Leave it be."

Winokur swallowed his protest, staring after Urthblood and wondering how any goodbeast could so coldly slay thirteen creatures, even if they were searats.

00000000000

When Urthblood said jump, his troops jumped. In short order, his entire army filled the wide banks by the searat submarine and spilled over into the nearby forest. All the Guosim had come too, even the complaining Snoga and his rebellious followers. That swelled the total number of creatures there to over eight hundred. It was hardly surprising that the riverbank was a tad crowded.

A giant semicircle of seated and standing beasts was quickly formed. Urthblood sat with his back to the broadstream. Immediately around him were the Guosim leaders and the Northlands captains, along with Winokur and Warnokur. Behind them were the rest of the Guosim and the smaller creatures of Urthblood's army. Finally came the vast ranks of otters, rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets, who could see over their shorter comrades to witness this meeting.

As the westering sun fell slowly toward the horizon, Log-a-Log withdrew a shiny black stone from a pouch at his waist and held it prominently displayed as he sat there.

"My troops and I will shortly be headed for Salamandastron again," Urthblood said to the shrew chieftain. "My business there cannot be delayed any longer. That is not to diminish the importance of the events that have occurred here. Indeed, I can think of no discovery that could have changed things more. I have learned that this vessel is one of two underwater craft that Tratton has in operation. But, he is building more. Perhaps many more, and not all of the same size. With a fleet of ships such as these, he could strike at any point along the coast, totally by surprise and without any warning. The tall masts and wide sails that used to herald the arrival of searats from afar would give way to hidden marauders that could disgorge scores of fighters upon an unsuspecting victim who does not even guess that danger and death is upon them.

"And the threat is not just to the seacoast. This ship we captured was on a trial run, and its mission was one of taking slaves. Imagine instead a procession of five or ten such vessels coming up the river at once, not with holds empty to carry slaves back to Terramort but rather filled with twoscore rats each - armed and trained fighters whose purpose is to conquer, not kidnap. They could overwhelm any region of Mossflower they wished. Tratton does not see himself as merely king of the searat pirates; he harbors ambitions of empire. I did not think he would directly challenge the creatures of the lands beyond the coast, but this new weapon extends the reach of his power far beyond that of any searat ruler who came before him. Tratton can now strike even into the heart of Mossflower, at any point that lies along a deep river connecting to the sea, and perhaps capture territory we thought was beyond his grasp. With luck on his side, he could establish strongholds in our very midst, riverside fortresses from which he could expand his conquests even more. It is my fear that we may be seeing an escalation in the ancient conflict between searats and land dwellers. We could be poised on the threshold of all-out war."

"Your prophecy," Winokur breathed. "But, My Lord, if this is true, then mustn't you put aside your differences with your brother? I mean, this is the real enemy, right here."

"The power of Salamandastron must not be divided in the face of this threat," Urthblood answered. "If I am convinced that my brother is unfit to command that stronghold or would vie for my leadership, I will assert my rightful claim as the older brother and take charge of the mountain for myself."

"Even if you have to use force to do it?" Winokur asked.

"That will be up to him."

Snoga snorted derisively. "I don't care 'bout no badger kings, they can fight it out amongst themselves fer all I care!"

Log-a-Log thrust out his laden paw toward the troublemaker. "I've got the black stone, Snoga! So don't be impudent an' talk outta turn!"

Snoga ignored Log-a-Log. "An' I don't care 'bout no searats neither! Now that we know they got these underwater boats, we'll just chuck lotsa stuff inta the rivers so's there won't be room fer 'em t' get by. That'll fix 'em, problem solved!"

"I was about to suggest the same thing," Urthblood said without missing a beat. "But, if these rats have vessels that can sail under the water, might they not also be able to secretly clear away blockages or even dredge the riverbottoms deeper, without anybeast on land being aware of it? No, it would not be enough to simply cast obstructions into the waters and think yourselves safe. The blockades would have to be clearly marked and constantly guarded, so that no searat vessels could attempt to clear away the debris. Even better would be real dams, that stand the full depth and width of these rivers. They could have spillways to prevent the waters from backing up and flooding the lands behind them. They could even be designed with locks and gates, so that honest boating creatures can be allowed to pass. Another idea would be to organize all the otters of Mossflower into patrols that would regularly survey the waters in the same way that the squirrels of Redwall patrol the forestlands. There may be other things that can be done as well. But the searat threat must be met by all the creatures of the lands, united and working together. Which is why I must hasten to Salamandastron and settle matters there as quickly as I may."

Urthblood nodded over his shoulder toward the mostly-concealed submarine. "The news is not all against us. The stolen woodlanders have been rescued, and this vessel is now in our possession. It is one of only two that Tratton has completed, and the full capabilities of these craft are still being tested by their builders. This vessel was commanded by one of his top captains and a select crew personally paw-picked by the searat king himself. The loss of both ship and crew will be a double blow to Tratton. Best of all, there is no way that word of these events could get back to him. He might think it was lost in some mishap out on the open sea during its voyage. It will probably be some days yet before its lateness will even be noticed; even if there are pirate ships waiting to rendezvous with it at the mouth of this river, they will still have to sail back to Terramort before Tratton can possibly know of its disappearance. He will have to guess whether this secret has been revealed to us, or if we are still safely ignorant of this new weapon of his. I propose that we keep him guessing. His uncertainty can only work to our advantage."

"We should alert Redwall about this as soon as we can, My Lord," Winokur said. "The River Moss runs about a day's march to the north and east past the Abbey, and that stream's easily deep enough for one of these new rat ships to navigate. Also, Alexander's Forest Patrol can help recruit otters from that part of Mossflower for river guard duty. The Sparra can help spread the news too."

"Perhaps the Guosim can dispatch a runner to Redwall," Urthblood said. "I can spare none of my troops for that purpose."

"That'll be no problem t'all, Lord," Log-a-Log assured the badger warrior.

"Good. Now, as for the searat vessel itself, it is of no use to me where I'm going ... I can't even fit through the top hatch. I would dearly love to have a season just to examine it and learn all of its workings, but this is not to be. Therefore, I freely give this prize to the Guosim, and their friend Lorr, who can probably make better use of it than anybeast in Mossflower. It is yours to do with as you will. Perhaps in time you will be able to learn how to operate it well enough that we can make it part of our defense against Tratton. It was your young ones who were held prisoners in its hold. It is only fitting that it should be yours, and only poetic justice if we can eventually use Tratton's own invention against him."

Log-a-Log bowed his head in gratitude toward Urthblood. "Now I'm doubly indebted to you, Lord. First, for saving my son an' the others, and second, for exposin' this danger to our homelands an' tellin' us how to fight 'gainst it. I dunno if this fur-forsaken ship'll do us any more good that it would've done you, but ye're right about Lorr here. This bankvole will take it apart in his head an' put it back together again in a dozen diff'rent ways. We accept this gift with honor. We owe you much. I don't really know what's goin' on 'tween yerself an' yer brother, but we'll march with you to Salamandastron, an' fight by yer side if it comes to that. You can consider the Guosim your allies from this day forth. If you need fighters, we're yours to command."

Snoga silently smoldered. Clearly he disagreed strongly with his chieftain. But many of the Guosim had had their kidnapped youngsters returned to them by Urthblood, and the cantankerous shrew realized that any protest he made would be shouted down by the majority of the Guosim.

Urthblood's next words must have given him much satisfaction. "Thank you for the offer," the badger said to Log-a-Log, "but I would rather you did not accompany us to Salamandastron. That is a personal matter, and one that I must settle on my own. It is more important that you remain here in Mossflower, to begin preparations against this new threat that has shown itself. Guard that vessel well, to make sure no evil creatures steal it back for their own wicked purposes. Show it to every goodbeast in this region that you can, so that they may recognize this danger if they encounter it on their own. Summon all the otters who will answer your call, and make them see that their help is vital. I do not imagine it will be difficult to convince them, once they see the ship for themselves."

"Nay, that it won't," Log-a-Log agreed. "Since you ask this of us, we'll do it, even though I myself would still rather go with you. But yer words make good sense. Mayhaps there'll be other battles to come when we'll be able to help you."

"Or I, you," said Urthblood. "Although I am working for the day when there will be no more battles, that day is not here yet. And in times of crisis, all creatures of good heart must be willing to aid each other."

"Well, then, I wish you good fortune on the rest o' yer march," said Log-a-Log. "When we meet next, I hope it's under better circumstances. But if it ain't, you'll know you can count on us fer whatever you need."

"And better allies I am sure I could not have. Lorr has examined the searat vessel as thoroughly as any of my otters have. He can explain its workings to you, should you decide to try to sail it anywhere."

"Although I daresay you'll prob'ly hafta hire some brawny otters to crank that propulsion shaft," Saybrook said. "'Fraid you shrewfolk ain't quite big enuff t' manage it."

The otter captain turned to Urthblood. "What I don't understand is why they were just sittin' there, anchored in one spot. They had as many slaves as they could hold, so there was no reason they shouldn't have been off an' away."

"There was one reason," Urthblood said. "You have seen the full size of the craft during your swims. Tell me, could it turn around to face seaward?"

"Well, ship me oars! No. No, it couldn't. The river here isn't wide enuff. Deep, but not wide."

"This was one of the things I learned when I questioned the searat crew. They hadn't intended to stop in waters so narrow, and they knew it would be a difficult maneuver to back out of them. They were planning to wait until full day, when the going would be less hazardous. We were fortunate to catch them when we did, right after they had received the last of the slaves from those foxes, but before it had gotten too dark for me to make out the hatch."

"Yes," Saybrook said, "I'd noticed there weren't any windows in the back of that thing. Whompin' bad design, I'd call it. So, how would they make it go backward?"

Urthblood opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say a word Lorr burst out, "By cranking the propulsion shaft in the opposite direction, of course, of course!"

Saybrook slapped his forehead. "Blimy, that would work, wouldn't it? Shoulda figured it out m'self. The blades are tilted, so they'd stir th' water both ways. Course, wouldn't be nearly as efficient goin' backways, with the bulk of the ship in the way ... "

"It would have taken the better part of a day for them to back downstream where they could turn about, even with the current helping them," Urthblood explained. "They were in unfamiliar waters in a new type of craft, so they decided to wait until morning to depart. It was a decision that cost them their lives."

"So, those villains are all dead?" Log-a-Log asked.

"Yes."

"They weren't of any use to him," Winokur added sardonically, winning a cautionary glance from his father.

"Can't say I'll shed any tears over 'em," Log-a-Log said. "Not after what they did to us, and woulda done to my son if'n they'd got away clean with him."

Urthblood stood, and his captains followed suit. "We are moving out, now," he announced simply, and within moments every creature in his army was shuffling toward the northward trail to assume marching formation. Log-a-Log stood with eyebrows raised, impressed anew by the hardcore discipline of the Badger Lord's Northland soldiers.

As the column of troops arranged themselves once more for the march through lower Mosflower, Urthblood had a parting word with the Guosim leader.

"Keep in mind, those slaver foxes are still on the loose. Even without their searat masters, they could still cause quite a bit of mischief."

"Oh, if we run across 'em, it'll be the end for them!" Log-a-Log assured his new ally. "An' if'n you happen to meet up with 'em first, give 'em my regards." He slapped his son Pirkko on the back heartily. "Mine, an' my son's!"

"I will leave their heads on pikes along the side of the path, where they will be easy to find."

"Fare ye well, Lord Badger!"

"And you, friend shrew."

Winokur and Warnokur took their turn shaking paws farewell with the shrew chieftain. "You watch yerself, Warny mate," Log-a-Log said. "An' you too, Wink. This is serious business you're mixed up in. Promise me you'll stick to your purpose, and stay outta any fightin' 'tween those two bagders. If the fur starts flyin', bail into th' nearest bush, an' no hesitatin'!"

"That's the plan fer Wink 'ere," Warnokur responded, "but I've been a soldier in Lord Urthblood's army fer the better part of a season m'self. If there's fightin', my javelin's his to command. No passes fer this old riverdog. You just keep that mealy-mouthed pipsqueak Snoga from givin' you too much grief."

"Oh, don't worry 'bout him, Warny. This whole searat thing should force a little cooperation from Snoga's bunch, an' keep his britches where they belong." Log-a-Log shook his head. "I swear ... searats in an underwater ship, right here in th' middle of Mossflower! When that ol' fussbottom Geoff hears about this, it'll be one fer the records, all right!"

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Urthblood and Captain Mattoon had discovered a fairly wide northward trail when they were in the woods with the searats. This was the path that the army took now. The sun was touching the western horizon, but since everybeast had had a day's break from the march, Urthblood announced that they would travel until they returned to the east-west path that they'd been following before their detour with the Guosim, even if it took until after dark. Urthblood wanted to make up for lost time.

A quarter of an hour into the march, the vanguard passed a mound of newly-turned earth, packed down tight and bearing shovel marks from the tamping. The pit that it covered looked of a size to contain thirteen adult rats. Winokur stared at it as they passed, but neither he nor anybeast else said anything.

And the army of Urthblood marched onward to Salamandastron.


	19. Chapter 45

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Five

Another glorious summer afternoon at Redwall was drawing to a close. The late sun reflecting off the sandstone bricks of the Abbey cast a warm and rosy glow over all the grounds. Many creatures were strolling about the lawns in a pre-dinner walk, savoring the last full sunshine of the day. Among these were Machus and Lady Mina.

The swordfox was feeling somewhat guilty about having slept away nearly the entire day, but Mina would have none of it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Machus," the squirrel Lady said. "You were falling way behind in your sleep, and it showed. Lord Urthblood would hardly have approved. He wants his troops, and especially his captains, to keep well-rested and alert. You'd have failed inspection, I think."

"True, true," Machus nodded. "And I do feel much better. But you must grant that there were circumstances that needed my attention ... "

"Yes, and you did a fine job tending to them. The world didn't fall apart because you finally got the shuteye you were entitled to. No foe has breached these walls, the troublemaking vermin are secure outside, the hare Hanchett is still safely chained to Smallert, and the mousechild Cyrus is continuing to recover nicely, thank you very much. Things are going well, and they'd not be any better if you'd forced yourself to stay awake all this day."

"Yes, but what about that council down in Cavern Hole?" Machus asked. "You should have woken me for that."

"I asked whether I should," Mina replied, "but I was assured that it wasn't necessary for either of us to attend. And by that, I mean to say that we were specifically not invited." She lowered her voice, glancing about to make sure no Redwaller could overhear. "I can't imagine what was discussed there, but I could swear the Abbey leaders have been more distant toward me ever since that meeting let out."

"Well, what did they tell you it was going to be about?"

"That's just it. They didn't, really. Some routine Abbey business that you and I wouldn't need to concern ourselves with. It was their recorder mouse, Brother Geoff, who called the conference, so perhaps it really wasn't anything important. But poor Alexander! When he had to tell me I was not to be included, he stammered and flustered like he was a youngbeast! Hey may be leader of the Mossflower Patrol, but I'm afraid he'll never have the straight face to be a diplomat!"

"You've grown quite fond of him, haven't you?" the swordfox probed.

Mina suddenly coolled toward her fellow Northlander. "It's nothing I'll let interfere with my duties, I can assure you. Alex is a good friend. If we are to become more than that, it will have to wait until after things are settled with Urthfist ... one way of the other."

"I wasn't prying, Mina. You and your brother Marinus and all the Gawtrybe have been solid allies to Lord Urthblood, and you're certainly entitled to take a husband whenever and wherever you choose. It's just that I've seen better fighters than you lose their edge over romantic matters, when they could least afford to, and sometimes it cost them dearly. I would hate to see that happen to you."

"Oh, trust me, it won't. And, just by the way, when did you ever see any fighter better than me?"

The squirrel Lady's imperious cockiness brought a reluctant smile to Machus's lips. "Pardon me, I did misspeak on that score ... "

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a swooping sparrow who dropped nimbly onto the lawn directly in their path.

"Excuse me, good sir," the bird said to Machus, "but would you happen to be the leader of these fox fellows?"

"I am," Machus affirmed. "And you must be chief of Redwall's Sparra folk. Highwing, isn't it?"

The erudite Sparra seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry, have we been introduced before now, and it slipped my mind?"

Machus grinned playfully. "Oh, no. It's just that your eloquence precedes you. Surely no other sparrow could be so well spoken. How may I help you, my feathered friend?"

"Well, since you and your fellow foxes seem to be taking most of the watches up on the walltop these days, I thought I ought to report directly to you."

"Report what?"

"That there is a badger coming this way, across the Western Plains."

Machus and Mina both straightened as if struck by lightning. "A badger? Like the one who was here for awhile?"

"Well, yes and no. Your Lord Urthblood wore red armor, and this one is wearing a sort of grayish color. Other than that, they look enough alike to be brothers ... which I assume they are."

Fox and squirrel looked at each other. There could be no doubt ... but, just to be sure, Machus asked, "Did he perchance have anybeasts travelling with him?"

"Oh, yes," Highwing bobbed his head. "A regular little army of hares. Between threescore and five, I would estimate."

Machus held up a paw. "Say no more. Highwing, I would like to borrow you for a short while, if I may. Would you please come with us now to a meeting of all the Abbey leaders? I think they should hear this for themselves."

"It would be my pleasure," the sparrow assented. "The Abbess wanted us Sparra to be Redwall's eyes and ears far afield. We were only too happy to oblige. It now seems this was a wise precaution."

"Wise indeed," Machus said, not mentioning the fact that the idea had been his in the first place. "Well, Mina - now it's our turn to convene a council of the Abbey leaders!"

00000000000

For the second time that day, the leaders and defenders of Redwall found themselves seated around the table in Cavern Hole. Only this time, Machus and Lady Mina were there as well.

Highwing occupied a place between Abbess Vanessa and the two Northlanders, standing upon his special chair-perch that allowed him to easily take part in such discussions.

"It was my nephew Tallowbeak who saw them first," Highwing told the council. "He was flying down around where old St. Ninian's church used to be, as he likes to do sometimes. He was taking a wide turn back north that put him over the edge of the Western Plains. That was when he saw them. He knew instantly that this must be the force we'd been warned to watch out for, so he flew back here as fast as he could to tell me about it. I decided I had better go see for myself, so I took off right away, headed to the southwest.

"It wasn't difficult to spot them. They're travelling in a wide column, very military-like, with three or four scouts ranging ahead and to either side of the main formation. I was wondering whether I should drop down and introduce myself, but they didn't look very friendly, so I decided it was best to fly back to Redwall straightaway to let you folks know about this. I don't think they spotted me, or took any special notice if they did."

"You did the right thing, Highwing," Vanessa said. "And your nephew, too. That was good thinking on his part, coming here to fetch you."

"How far are they from Redwall?" Machus asked the sparrow.

"They should have reached the main road by now, I should think," Highwing replied. "If they held to their course, they'd have come out a little below the church ruins."

Everybeast breathed a sigh of relief. "Well," said Vanessa, "that means they're not likely to get here before dark."

"And if they've been marching all day," Arlyn added, "they'll probably stop for the night soon. Too bad St. Ninian's isn't still standing ... that might have convinced them to stop there until morning. Now there is no guarantee that they won't come to our doors during the night."

"This early warning does work to our advantage, however," Machus said. "Abbess, I'm afraid I must ask that you allow my banished troops back inside. Urthfist may come bearing no ill will toward you Redwallers, but I have heard that he has no love for vermin, or my own kind. If he encounters any of my soldiers outside these walls, I fear he will slay them out of paw and give them no chance to explain themselves first. I would not see that happen, not even to them."

"By all means, let them in," Vanessa assented. "I was given to understand that most of them had no part in the unpleasantness which occurred with Cyrus. I don't want any blameless creatures killed by some misunderstanding. I'm sure you'll have no problem making them behave, once they realize the alternative. We'll do nothing to provoke Lord Urthfist, until we have had a chance to sit down with him and talk things out like reasonable creatures."

"And if he proves unreasonable?" Machus asked.

"Then he will not be permitted inside this Abbey," Vanessa said firmly. "Even a Badger Lord and his hundred hares will be hard pressed to gain entry to Redwall if they are not welcome. We will see to that."

"To what lengths, Abbess, will you be willing to go to keep them out of Redwall, if they are determined to get in?" Lady Mina inquired.

"These walls have kept out larger forces than that," Alex assured the squirrel Lady.

"Yes," she nodded, "but those were villainous vermin that you were willing to slay down to the last wretched beast of them. Suppose these hares start hammering at all four of Redwall's gates with battering rams, all at once? Will you pour boiling oil or scalding water down upon them to make them break off their assault? Will you shoot at them with arrows, hurl spears, or shower them with rocks and masonry, even though that may kill some of them? These are the questions you must face now, because come tomorrow they may become more than mere questions. If Urthfist demonstrates that he means to harm creatures within this Abbey, will you use deadly force to thwart him? If he tries to force his way into Redwall, will you defend yourselves with any means necessary?"

Vanessa's expression was grave. "Do you really think this might happen?"

Mina shrugged. "I have never met Urthfist, so I do not know his mind. But Lord Urthblood did worry that his brother's longstanding hatred of foxes and vermin might have driven him beyond reason. It may be that the mere sight of Machus or any of his troops on the walltop will be enough to send Urthfist into an irrational frenzy."

"Then perhaps Machus and his forces should stand down from the ramparts," Arlyn suggested. "Until we know for certain."

"Lord Urthblood left me here to help defend this Abbey in just such an event as this," Machus countered the old Abbot. "I will not shirk that responsibility, and run off to hide in a dark corner just because some hate-maddened bully might take offense at my being a fox."

"I see your point," said Vanessa. "But what about the hares? Surely if Urthfist has become totally demented, they would not still follow him so loyally. One badger alone poses no threat to Redwall; he needs his hares if he intends to do any fighting. Even if Urthfist is mad enough to order an attack on us, would his hares obey? I cannot believe they would. Not if it meant harming woodlanders and goodbeasts."

"And children," Mother Maura added.

"I would like to believe you are right." Machus ran his gaze around the table. "But we cannot know what is in the mind of Urthfist and his hares until they arrive. Maybe this is all some dreadful misunderstanding, that will be straightened out if he comes in good faith and good temper. If not - if Lord Urthblood's fears are realized - we must gird ourselves for a siege as serious as any Redwall has ever faced. We have until morning at most, or he could be upon us this very night, if he does not stop to rest. We must use that time to make what preparations we can. We must be ready to meet whatever challenge is issued to us, and to drive away any assault that may be mounted against us."

"We have all the food and drink on paw to last out a siege of a full season, perhaps even two," said Vanessa. "I cannot see them standing outside our Abbey in the winter snows. It is all a matter of keeping them outside our walls. I will have baskets of heavy rubble taken up to the battlements, and piled right above each of the four gates. Since we now have night-and-day lookouts, we cannot be taken by surprise. Anybeast with hostile intent who tries to break into our Abbey will get some bumps on the head - not enough to seriously injure them, hopefully, but enough to make them regret their decision."

She turned to Highwing. "But maybe we can do more than just wait and guess what Urthfist intends. I think we should contact him now, send word that all is well here and he would be welcome to visit, as long as he agrees to obey our laws and cause no harm. Perhaps we can find out why he has come. Perhaps, once he learns that his brother is no longer here, he will not be interested in coming to Redwall at all. Could you do this for us, Highwing? Fly down to them and convey our greetings to Lord Urthfist. Get him to tell you what his business in Mossflower is, and then fly back here to tell us. You can also tell us whether he strikes you as mad or unreasonable, and then we will know where we stand, at least."

"I hope he will not strike me at all," Highwing replied, causing several of the others to chuckle at his joke. "But I have never met a badger who can fly, so I should be safe. I can speak with him and his hares from the safety of a high limb, and fly away if they threaten me. I will do this, Abbess, since I can see how important it is."

They all looked to Machus then, to see whether the swordfox agreed with this plan. He pursed his lips. "I suppose ... but it could be risky. And I'm not talking about good Highwing's safety alone. If Urthfist is in an unpredictable mood, there's no way to know what might set him off in a violent rage. For all we know, good tiding from Redwall might put him over the edge as easily as a challenge of defiance. And we don't want to let slip anything that he may be able to use against us. Right now, chances are he has no idea what is going on here. I'm thinking it might be better to leave it that way. If he doesn't know whether we'll be expecting him, is that an advantage we should so readily give up?"

"I was just wonderin'," Montybank spoke up, "is it possible that Urthblood 'n' Urthfist met along th' way? I mean, two armies travellin' opposite ways, each makin' fer the exact place the other came from ... what's the chances of the two of 'em totally missin' each other?"

Lady Mina answered, "It sounds to me as if Urthfist took a more northernly route, if he's coming our near those ruins. Alexander and I have gone that far just on routine patrols. Lord Urthblood was going to march straight south for two or three days before turning west. That would leave a lot of leeway. I'd guess they never came anywhere near each other."

"Yes, but, if Lord Urthfist is only just getting here," Geoff observed, "wouldn't that mean he must have left Salamandastron around the same time that Urthblood left Redwall? Isn't that rather coincidental?"

Mina looked hard at the recorder mouse. "I don't know what you mean."

"It seems to me," old Arlyn broke in, "that we're all overlooking something rather obvious."

That got everybeast's attention. "What's that, Arlyn?" Vanessa prompted.

"Well, here we are, all wondering what Urthfist and his hares might have in mind, and it occurs to me that we just happen to have one of those hares staying at Redwall right now. So, why don't we ask him?"

00000000000

Hanchett the hare stood before the assembled Abbey leaders down in Cavern Hole, the weasel Smallert still manacled to him wrist and ankle.

"We need your help, Hanchett," Vanessa said.

The hare glanced down at the chains linking him to Smallert. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but I don't think I'm in much position to help m'self, much less anybeast else."

"Then you'll be happy to know that this will be your last night of captivity."

Hanchett perked up at this, but Machus looked sharply toward Vanessa. "Abbess, we didn't discuss - "

She silenced the fox with an upraised paw. "Machus, we both know that the only reason Lord Urthblood insisted we detain Hanchett was so that he wouldn't run ahead to Salamandastron to warn Lord Urthfist, or cause trouble for the marchers in some other way. That is no longer a possibility, so there is no cause to deny this beast his freedom."

Vanessa addressed the Long Patrol hare. "Hanchett, we think you'll be interested to know that Urthfist is, as we speak, less than half a day's march from Redwall. And he seems to have brought most of his hares with him."

Hanchett's face fell, as his short-lived elation was brought to an abrupt end. "Oh, no. Say it isn't true, Abbess! Are you sure?"

"Reasonably so. Highwing, describe for Hanchett exactly what you saw."

"Certainly, Abbess." The Sparra leader proceeded to outline for the hare everything he could remember, from the color and shape of the badger's armor to the clothing of his hare troops, and the manner and formation of their marching. By the time he was finished, Hanchett's face was even longer.

"Yup, that's them," he nodded morosely. "Fur an' damnation, why are they comin' now? Salamandastron's sure to fall, without them there. Lord Urthfist knew his brother might be on his way toward Redwall, but he'd never have come here if he knew Urthblood had already left. He shouldn't have come anyway! Wot was he thinkin'?"

"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," Vanessa said. "You've been in Lord Urthfist's service for a number of seasons. You know his personality, and we do not. Will we be able to treat him as a friend, or will he be violent toward us?"

"Depends wotcha mean by 'us.'" Hanchett gestured toward Machus. "I can tell you for sure, 'is Lordship won't take a shine t' findin' beasts of his type inside Redwall."

Vanessa sharpened. "Who we decide to allow inside Redwall as our guests is our concern, not his. But we do insist that our guests be treated with the same respect, and by the same laws, as any Redwaller. Machus has proven himself a friend. Your own master has yet to do so. If Urthfist threatens harm to any creature within our Abbey - even foxes, rats and weasels - then we must treat him as we would an enemy, and refuse him entry to Redwall."

Hanchett shrugged. "Wotever. I can't predict wot's gonna happen, 'cos I never would've imagined he'd leave Salamandastron. I don't know why he thought it was necessary to come to Redwall, or wot he thinks to do here. All I know is I was sent to warn you good folk about Urthblood, an' I got here too late."

"I don't know what there is about Urthblood that you thought you had to warn us about," said Vanessa, "but he and most of his army have come and gone, leaving us none the worse. It is Urthfist who approaches now with a fighting force, and his intentions are unclear to us. Urthblood worried about his brother's state of mind. Tell me this, if you can: when Urthfist discovers that Urthblood has left for Salamandastron, might that make him dangerously enraged?"

"Dangerously dismayed, more like. He'll be findin' out that the thing he's spent his whole life protectin' is about to be pulled out from under him. What would you do, Abbess, if you were t' learn Redwall was about to fall to your sworn enemy?"

"I'd fight them," Vanessa answered. "But I would not involve innocent goodbeasts who had no part in our conflict. Now, it has still not been explained to my satisfaction why Urthfist considers his brother his sworn enemy, or why it would be such a disaster for Urthblood to assume Lordship of Salamandastron. But if this is certain to come about anyway, and if Urthblood is after all the rightful heir to that mountain fortress, shouldn't Urthfist be looking for ways to cooperate with Urthblood, rather that fight him?"

Hanchett made a sour face. "Would you dance with an adder, Abbess, or sleep with a scorpion?"

"Urthblood has dwelt in our Abbey, and I am neither stung nor bitten," she said wryly. "I have yet to hear why Urthfist's cause is just, and why we should mistrust Urthblood. I suppose I will simply have to wait for this badger to arrive and state his case for himself. But it would be nice to know what we may expect from him."

"He wouldn't harm goodbeasts, if that's your worry," Hanchett assured them. "He's dedicated himself fer twenty seasons to guardin' the coast 'gainst searats so you inland folk can have peace from those dirty scoundrels - not like Urthblood, who's friends with those vile nastybeasts."

"Lord Urthblood has no searats in his service," Lady Mina retorted, "and he hardly considers slave-takers to be his friends."

"Oh? I heard he was buddies with Tratton ... even spent some time at sea wi' that blighter."

"Then you are woefully ignorant, and should not speak on such matters. I can only hope Lord Urthfist is not so badly misinformed."

"Lady Mina, please," Vanessa said sharply. "Heated words will not gain us anything here. Hanchett, we are thinking of sending this Sparra down to welcome your master and his hares, while they are still some distance from Redwall. This will allow us to judge his temperament, and assure him that all is well here. What do you think of this idea?"

"Smashin' idea, ma'am, 'cept fer one thing." Hanchett jangled the chains that made him and Smallert prisoners of each other. "I'd be more'n happy to take that bally bird's place. Just undo these bracelets, an' I'll be off."

Vanessa smirked at the hare's audacity. "I hardly think you'd be an objective messenger."

"Yes, there is that," Hanchett admitted.

"No, your manacles will be opened when Urthfist is standing outside our gates, and not before. That should be tomorrow morning, or perhaps even tonight. I'm sure you can wait that much longer."

"Reckon I can."

Vanessa turned to her old Sparra friend. "I think perhaps a slight change of plan is called for, Highwing. Machus has concerns about telling Urthfist more than he knows now. It may be wise to follow that counsel, until we ourselves can learn more of his purpose in coming here. I would still like you to fly down to them, but not as an envoy. See if you can find some branch or high perch from which you can watch and listen to Urthfist and his hares without calling attention to yourself. Find out all you can, then fly back here and tell us."

"I can do that, Abbess. But what if I am spotted, or hailed?"

"Then you will just be a simple, curious woodlands sparrow, flying down for a look at an unusual group of travelers. They don't need to know you're a Redwaller, so they'd have no reason to expect you'd know what's going on inside the Abbey. One thing, though: if you must talk to them, you'll have to try to speak like a regular Sparra. Otherwise, they'll suspect something's amiss."

"Oh, dear. That's a tall order, Abbess. Let's see ... hrmph! Hmrwph! Been longtime since mespeak like Sparra to groundworm crawlers!"

"Good enough, Highwing!" Vanessa laughed. "It'll fool any of us groundworms, especially ones who aren't native to Mossflower. And you should be safe, since Urthfist isn't likely to mistake you for a rat or a fox!"

"I should hope not!" Highwing hopped off his chair-perch and birdstepped toward the stairs up to Great Hall. "No time like the present, or so they say. Wish me luck. I'll return as soon as I have anything worthwhile to tell."

"Take care, Highwing. And, thank you."

Highwing bobbed his head in acknowledgement and disappeared up the steps.

Hanchett shook his wrist chain, looking over at Smallert. "Well, honeymoon's almost over, chap. Been nice knowin' you, even tho' you are a weasel."

Smallert tried to force the expression of misery from his face. "Ye're a goodhearted soul fer puttin' up wi' me, an' givin' me some solace in me last days. Guess this's th' last night o' captivity fer either o' us, tho' you got better reason t' welcome it than I do."

Vanessa felt a lump forming in her throat. With everything else going on, she'd completely forgotten that Hanchett's release was virtually a death sentence for the weasel. And here they'd been, talking about it right in front of Smallert as if he weren't even there!

"Machus," she said "we still have to decide what to do about Smallert. I trust you'll do nothing with him until we've had a chance to consider his case more thoroughly? After all, we did not expect to be releasing Hanchett quite this soon."

"A good point, Abbess," Machus agreed. "And I imagine that I will be too occupied these next few days to pay him much attention. Starting tomorrow, after we free Hanchett, I'll have Smallert put back down in the cell. He can remain there, under guard, until we get to him."

The weasel looked confused. "Wha - I thought I was set t' die, no two ways about it?"

"That is the penalty your crimes demand, under Lord Urthblood's laws," Machus explained. "Normally, I would be left with no choice but to have you executed. But since we are at Redwall, the Abbess has final say in your punishment. If she insists I spare your life, I will have to obey."

Smallert looked to Vanessa. "Oh ... oh, thank you, Abbess." His voice was choked with emotion.

Vanessa let her gaze fall to her folded paws. "I still haven't decided whether to extend you the mercy of Redwall, so don't thank me yet."

"Even fer considerin' it, marm, I'm grateful. It's th' greatest kindness anybeast's ever shown me." Smallert pawed away a tear, trying to compose himself.

"All right, all right." Machus stood. "Abbess, Lady Mina and I will see to getting the rest of our soldiers back inside the Abbey. I'd like to put them all right up on the walltop, although there should be some Redwallers up there too. Let us go get that straightened out."

"Of course. Monty and Alex will help you with that. And Foremole will keep the baskets of masonry coming, so that you'll have all the ammunition you need, if it comes to that." Glancing at Hanchett, she added, "Just smaller rocks, nothing too dangerous. We'll refrain from putting Alex and his archers on the ramparts, unless the situation gets very bad. Remember, all of you, we would prefer to settle this with words, not weapons. Hopefully, Highwing will be able to tell us which of those we are likely to need more."


	20. Chapter 46

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Six

"What happened here?"

Urthfist and his hares stood regarding the charred lot by the roadside. Clearly a building had once stood there, a building that had been burned nearly to the ground.

"I don't think your brother had anything t' do with this, M'Lord," Major Safford said, pointing. "This foundation's too overgrown - look, there's even some saplings growing up through the wreckage in places. Didn't Traveller say something about an old church that had burned down many seasons ago, just south of Redwall? This must be the place."

"We can take nothing for granted, Major. We will remain here until Traveller returns with the advanced scouts, and then we will ask him."

"As you say, sir."

Urthfist surveyed the twilit scene around him. Most of the Long Patrol hares stood expectantly in the road or off to the side of it, mindful not to disturb anything that might be a useful clue. A few of the more experienced trackers stalked carefully through the meadows and woods surrounding the ruin, noses to the ground in their search for any telltale signs of beasts who had been through the area recently.

"This does not feel right, Major," Urthfist said. "I was listening to the countryside as we came off the Plains onto the road. I smelled and tasted the air. This does not feel to me like a region that is under siege, or has known some great catastrophe. This is the main road that runs by Redwall, and we cannot be more than a day away from the Abbey. My brother would at least have sent scouts or patrols down this way. So, where are they?"

"Perhaps they saw and heard us coming, and ran off to warn Urthblood. That's wot you'd expect 'em t' do, wot?"

The badger shook his head. "We should have seen something by now. We were told the woods around Redwall were swarming with vermin. We were told there would be goodbeasts waiting anxiously for us to come to their aid. We have heard stories of horrors and atrocities committed in this land. I sense none of these things."

"I know wot you mean, sir. But, wot then of Browder an' his friends? Or the others we met on our way here?"

"I have been wondering about them," Urthfist said. "Including Browder himself, we have seen a hare, a mole, two hedgehogs, two shrews and a mouse, all claiming to be Mossflower woodlanders fleeing from my brother's tyranny. Traveller has told us how Urthblood has seduced some goodbeasts into his service, mainly shrews and otters. Could all of the ones we met be working for him? Spies, to feed us false information and lure us on to Redwall?"

"Doesn't make sense," Safford argued. "Traveller confirmed that Urthblood's army was headed toward Redwall. Unless they pulled the fastest turnabout in military history, they must still be in Mossflower hereabouts. Why would His Bloodiness go out of his way to make sure you know he's here?"

"Perhaps he has some sort of trap in mind," Urthfist speculated. "We must be very careful here, whatever awaits us at Redwall."

Captain Polifly scampered over to them from the meadow north of the church ruins. "M'Lord, the grass over there's all been smashed flat. Not just in a few places, but all over. Evidence of cookfires too. I'd say a large troop of beasts stopped there ... probably in the hundreds."

"How long ago?" Urthfist asked.

"Some of the grass an' weeds are startin' to bounce back, so it wasn't in the last day or two. Three or four would be my guess."

"Hundreds, eh?" Safford mused. "Well, that can't be usual for these parts. Refugees, d'you think?"

"More like an army," Polifly answered. "Seemed too clean to have been anything else. I'd think a large group of refugees, fleein' for their lives, wouldn't have stopped in so orderly a fashion, all sittin' down at once all over th' whole field. My guess would be soldiers."

"I think he's right, sir," Patrol Leader Trinkellian put in, ambling over from his inspection of the road. "Some large group was through here recently, and by the look of it, they were marching in a pretty regular formation. They must've used this place as a stopping-off point, for rest or a meal."

"More like they overnighted here, by the look of that grass," Polifly said. "Doesn't get trampled down like that if you just sit on it for a bit."

"Either way," continued Trinkellian, "there are masses of tracks in the road north and south of here, but they become a jumbled mess right in this spot. They must've stopped here for a while, then gotten underway again." He pointed down the road. "South."

Urthfist's eyes widened. "South? Are you sure?"

"No mistakin' it, sir. They were travellin' south."

The badger looked to Safford. "Major, is there any chance we came off the Western Plains north of Redwall, not south as we thought?"

"Don't see how, sir. Traveller didn't think so, and he'd be the hare to know."

Urthfist looked back to Trinkellian. "Do you agree with Captain Polifly's assessment of how long ago that troop came through here?"

"Well, those tracks would have been washed out by a heavy rain, so it's been since that last blow we got, a few days before Browder came to us. And the impressions aren't deep enough for the road to've been muddy, so it'd had at least a day or two to dry out after that big storm. Then again, it couldn't have been as dry as it is now. So, yeah, four or five days sounds like it could be right."

Urthfist considered this. "That would put them coming through here around the same time we left Salamandastron ... " He turned and looked long toward the west, and his unseen mountain fortress. "Have I made a terrible mistake?"

"P'raps your brother divided his forces," Safford suggested. "Keep some at Redwall, send others south? He might do that, especially if he got more reinforcements down from the north. That would mean he's got even more forces in Mossflower than we'd figured."

Urthfist made no answer, staring wordlessly at the western horizon. His jaw muscles clenched and worked silently.

"My Lord, should we turn around right now and head back to Salamandastron?"

"No, Major," Urthfist replied after a long pause. "We have come all this way for the sake of goodbeasts who might be in distress. Whatever force came through here, they have too big a lead for us to hope to catch up with them. We will go to Redwall, and see if we are needed there."

"Yes, sir!"

"But we will not go there blind, or ignorant," the Badger Lord went on. "We will keep to our plan. When Traveller returns, I will ask him whether it is possible that we might be north of Redwall. We will send out patrols all night, until we encounter an enemy, or until we locate the Abbey. If my brother does have troops in Mossflower, we will find them and slay them. And if we discover vermin within Redwall, we shall not leave until their innards are strung from the battlements and their evil is driven from that place forever. And woe to anybeast who seeks to hinder us, or give comfort to my brother's forces!"

"We're with you, M'Lord," Safford declared with enthusiasm. "We'll give death to every rat, fox, weasel, stoat, ferret and toad who dares to show its ugly face!"

"And if my brother has visited Redwall with his evil," Urthfist swore, "I will wash these lands in blood until the memory of his presence is removed forever from Mossflower."

00000000000

Neither the badger not any of his hares paid any attention to the Sparra who'd been perched upon the lower branches of a nearby rowan, close enough so that it could overhear every word that was spoken.

Two of the younger hares, however, did notice when the sparrow took flight immediately on the heels of Urthfist's solemn pronouncements.

"Huh," one idly joked to the other, "looks like we're scaring the natives, wot?"

00000000000

Arlyn and Alexander were up on the ramparts with Machus and Mina. The fox had his forces - all the vermin who'd formerly been exiled along with a few of his fellow foxes - positioned at strategic points along the walltop, over the four gates and at the corners.

Foremole and one of his mole crew trundled over to the quartet, bearing between them a heavily-laden basket of rocks and masonry. The two stout beasts tipped the contents out onto the pile of debris that was already there, increasing the stock of crude projectiles that the lookouts could use to defend the south gate, if need be. Elsewhere on the walltop other groups of moles and otters were doing the same, making sure that every section of the ramparts would be well-stocked in the event of an assault.

"Burr hurr, thurr y' go, zurrs," Foremole said, tugging his snout courteously with one digging claw. "'nuff ammunishern thurr t' foight back a moighty army o' them beasties."

"Thank you, Foremole," said Arlyn. "This should be all we'll need, although hopefully we won't need any of it at all." The retired Abbot gazed at the pile of rubble. "You know, the histories tell us that when Cluny the Scourge tried to take Redwall, these were the exact same kind of weapons that we Abbeyfolk used. The sword of Martin hadn't yet been found, and Redwall had no real arsenal, or warriors, for that matter. But we did have chunks of stuff like this, and for the better part of a summer, it was enough to hold off the greatest enemy ever to threaten Redwall."

"Yes," Alexander nodded, "those were some of old Brother Trevor's favorite tales to tell in history class. As I recall, once when the Abbeyfolk grew bored with that, they found a loaded hornet's nest and threw it down at Cluny's gang instead. That took care of a few of those nastybeasts!"

Machus arched an eyebrow. "I can well imagine. I had thought Lord Urthblood had explored every possible weapon to use in battle, but I must confess that's one he probably never considered."

The evening was growing dark around them, as the blue sky faded to the silvery gray of daylight's dying hour. All throughout the Abbey lamps and lanterns and torches were being lit. Their warm, flickering glow already showed through many of the windows, giving the vastness of Redwall a cozy and inviting appearance. On the walltop, the sentries limited themselves to a few small candle lamps, not wanting to give any enemy a clear view of them.

Out of that twilight came Highwing, flapping his way north toward his Abbey home. The Sparra hailed his friends with a musical warble as he passed over their heads, swooped high and wide in a complete circuit of Redwall, then turnd back in a slow descent to the south wall. He landed sprightly upon the battlement stonework directly in front of Alexander and Arlyn.

"Welcome back, Highwing," the old mouse greeted him. "What news do you bring?"

"Urthfist and his hares have stopped by the remains of St. Ninian's," the sparrow reported. "I was able to listen to them from a tree branch without drawing attention to myself."

"Could you get an idea on what they plan, or where we stand with them?"

"Oh, they spoke most plainly," said Highwing. "They spent a long time talking about tracks and such. They could tell that Lord Urthblood's army had been that way, how long ago, and in what direction. Urthfist did not seem particularly pleased by that discovery. Then, they discussed what they would do about Redwall."

"Go on," Aryln urged. Alexander, Mina and Machus gathered close around; this was the most important part.

"Their words were less than kind." Highwing prided himself on his memory of sounds, words and phrases, and being able to repeat things he'd heard almost verbatim. "Urthfist said, and I quote, that if he found vermin inside Redwall, he would, ahem, 'not leave until their innards were strung from the battlements.' End quote."

A sentry rat who stood within earshot suddenly looked queasy, and placed a paw over his belly.

"He also said, 'If my brother has visited Redwall, I will wash the lands in blood.'"

"This ... is not good," Arlyn commented somberly. "Did he indicate what his feelings toward us Redwallers would be?"

Highwing cocked his head in recollection. "'Woe to anybeast who gives comfort to my brother's forces.'"

Lady Mina looked to Alexander. "Lord Urthblood was right: his brother has become unhinged and beyond reason."

"It sounds as if that might be the case," Arlyn was forced to admit. "But now the all-important question becomes, what of his hares? Will they obey his commands if he orders an attack on Redwall?"

"They seemed enthusiastic toward his declarations," Highwing replied. "The one who appeared to be the leader - 'Major' I think they called him - vowed to slay every fox, rat, weasel, stoat and ferret that they saw."

"Well, that's it then," Machus sighed. "If I or any of my troops step outside these walls, we'll be slaughtered. And if we stay here, Urthfist will put Redwall under siege until he gets his way."

"Maybe not," Alex offered hopefully. "Maybe, once he learns that his brother's gone on to Salamandastron, he'll leave us alone."

"Oh, yes," Highwing chirped, "the Major hare asked Urthfist at one point whether they ought to turn around and go back to Salamandastron, but the badger seemed determined that they press on toward Redwall."

Alex looked at Mina, concern for her safety in his eyes. "Maybe if you and Machus organized your troops quickly, you could get out through the north gate and get clear of Redwall before they arrive. They wouldn't have to know you'd ever been here."

Machus shook his head violently. "No. Lord Urthblood left us here to help defend this Abbey. I'll not disobey his orders."

"Nor will I," Mina seconded. "He's right, Alex. We could not even consider such a thing. You're stuck with us, like it or not."

Arlyn stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "Actually, Mina, you and the shrews could pass for Redwallers. You could stand alongside us when Urthfist arrives, and he'd never be the wiser. Perhaps if you stayed, and Machus took the rest - "

"No - " Machus started to protest anew, but Highwing cut him off.

"Uh, one more thing I forgot to mention, friends. Urthfist has already started sending out advanced scouts north through Mossflower. There may be some outside the Abbey even as we speak."

"Well, there goes that," Alexander said. "Hares are fast, and can cover ground like no other creature without wings. If there's a chance that they're already patrolling this part of Mossflower, there's no way anybeast here can set foot outside our gates."

"Agreed," Machus nodded vigorously.

"So, what do we do now?" Arlyn asked.

"We sit tight," said the swordfox. "My troops will stand watch up here tonight, but we should replace them with an all-Redwall rotation shortly before dawn. I think it will be less provocative if we have only woodlanders in sight when Urthfist approaches."

"That sounds like a good idea," Arlyn said. "I'm sure Vanessa would agree."

"I'll make sure to keep the lamplight up here dim and sparse," Machus continued, "so that any hares who might come up to our walls during the night will be hard-pressed to tell just what kind of creatures are standing watch. We're all well accustomed to dark guard shifts in the Northlands."

"Bet you're glad now that the Abbess made you catch up on your sleep today," Mina said to the swordfox, "because I don't think any of us will be getting much tonight."

The rat who'd looked stricken by Highwing's report was still visibly uneasy. Foremole went over to the nervous rodent and put a comforting claw around its shoulders.

"Yurr hurr, doan't you'm be a-wurried none, no zurr. Uz won't let no 'arm cumm to ee, boi okey uz won't."

00000000000

A bizarre kind of ballet danced itself out around Redwall that night. Not once, but several times, hares of the Long Patrol nosed their way to the outmost fringe of woods around the Abbey, where they could watch unseen from the cover of the deep forest shadows. So skilled were they in their stealth that those on the walltops never knew when or even if they were under surveillance.

But the hares did not have things entirely their own way, and as the midnight hour passed, their frustration grew. They might be invisible to the sentrybeasts up on the battlements, but those lookouts were just as careful not to show themselves too plainly to any adversary who might be below. The few lamps that burned upon the ramparts were dim and shielded, so that nobeast would be clearly illuminated in their wan glow. And the height of the wall made it difficult for the hares to accurately gauge the shape and size of the creatures above. Many times they could make out dim shadowy figures pacing back and forth upon the walltop, or others standing stock still at their posts, barely distinguishable against the black of night. Under those conditions, a squirrel might easily pass for a fox, an otter for a weasel, even a mouse for a rat ... or the other way around. There was no way for the hares to tell whether Redwall was occupied and guarded by the woodlanders who rightfully belonged there, or by the vermin that Urthfist had come to destroy.

If there was no way for the hares to tell what the situation was inside Redwall, then it was very obvious what was going on outside the Abbey: in a word, nothing. The Long Patrol ranged freely throughout the stretch of Mossflower that stood between Redwall and the ruined church. No enemy was found, no ambush uncovered, and nobeast of any sort challenged the Salamandastron hares as they reconned the area. The forest was empty of life, except for the buzz and chirrup of noctural insects.

Major Safford crouched low beneath a drooping willow, studying the darkened Abbey from the forest's edge. Captain Polifly crept up alongside him, causing not so much as a leaf's rustle as he moved.

"Crawlin' with vermin, my bobtail!" he hissed into Safford's bent ear, referring to the reports they'd received from the so-called refugees they'd met out on the Western Plains. "If they were ever here, they've crawled underground, or crawled clear away, 'cos they jolly well aren't here now!"

Safford signalled patience with a paw. "Can't jump to any bally conclusions, chap," he whispered. "Bad place to chance it. For all we know, these woods were thick with 'em yesterday, but they all withdrew inside Redwall when they got wind of us. They could be sittin' in there now, waitin' for us to come knockin'."

Polifly shook his head in the darkness. "Too quiet ... too peaceful. Those verminous sorts don't know how to behave that way. I'm sorry, sir, but I think His Lordship pegged it right: these lands don't feel like they've suffered anything terrible lately. I think we've been hoodwinked."

"Mebbe, mebbe not. But Traveller followed Urthblood's forces down into northern Mossflower ... and those tracks in the road by the church ruins prove that some army has passed this way. I cannot credit that they'd pass by Redwall and not stop there at all. That bloody tyrant's a smart one, and he's good at laying traps. Could be he's turned Redwall into the biggest trap of all."

"Yeah, well, if there's any trap 'round here, sir, it's inside those walls, 'cos these woods're clean."

"Does seem that way, wot?" Safford squinted his eyes and strained to get a better look at the distant walltop. "Wish I could make out just wot type o' bally beasts those are up there. Almost like they don't want t' be seen ... which would make sense if they're bad 'uns, an' knew to expect us. Don't reckon it'd occur to simple woodland folk to set up such deceptive lighting ... "

"Wouldn't know m'self," breathed Polifly, "never met these Redwall chaps personally. So, wot do we do now?"

Safford gave the shadowed Abbey one last mournful look. "Nothing for it but to report back to Lord Urthfist. Tho', if he asks my advice, I'll be torn wot to tell 'im. But he's determined to get to Redwall, an' now it looks like there's nothing standin' in his way."


	21. Chapter 47

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Seven

Vanessa found herself roused at dawn's first light and summoned to the west walltop with some urgency.

Urthfist had arrived.

Machus met her at the top of the wall steps. "I'm sorry, Abbess. I had intended to move all my troops down from the wall before sunrise so that he wouldn't see foxes right away, but they came upon us too quickly. They must have travelled through the night. I'm afraid they got a good look at us, and know we're in here."

"Don't worry overmuch, Machus. They would have learned that eventually, unless they plan on standing out in the road forever."

"So far, that seems to be the strategy," Machus said sardonically.

"Oh? Well, let's have a peek ... " Vanessa went to the outward battlements to get a good view down at the road. Her breath momentarily caught in her throat at her first glimpse of the force from Salamandastron. "Oh ... oh, my. That is an impressive display, in an almost frightening sort of way."

The gray morning mists added an otherworldly aura to the scene below. Lord Urthfist, in full battle armor of silver, gray and black, stood like a colossus in the road opposite Redwall's main gate. Behind him in a huge crescent were the hares of the Long Patrol, scores of them, their every gaze directed up toward the ramparts. They were not standing at formal attention, but there was readiness in their stances and alertness in their eyes, as if they were primed to react instantly to the unexpected. Nobeast spoke, and there was no trace of a smile or levity upon any of their faces.

Alexander stood at Vanessa's other paw. "I'm surprised they're all standing in the open like that," he commented. "If they think they have enemies in this Abbey, wouldn't they be afraid of getting shot at?"

"You'd be surprised at how quickly hares can move when they have to," Machus said. "I'd wager they'd even have a good chance at dodging archery fire. As for Urthfist, that armor of his will stop a lot. But they've taken other precautions as well." The swordfox pointed to the plains beyond the drainage ditch, across the road from the Abbey; Vanessa saw that there were about ten additional hares there, arranged in an even wider arc. "See how they're dispersed? They're back far enough so they can see around the sides of the Abbey walls. If an enemy force were to attack them from behind Redwall, they could give warning to the main formation in the road."

"It's a show of force, all right," Alex gritted his teeth, "and I can't say I care for it. Not one bit."

"Now, Alex," Vanessa said, "it's not so bad. We could have expected this. If this show of bravura is the worst they give us, we shall be very lucky indeed." She looked to the others; Montybank, Arlyn and Lady Mina were there as well. "Has anybeast tried to hail them?"

"I didn't think there'd be much point, Abbess," Machus answered. "Once they got a clear look at me, they didn't seem like they were in much of a mood to chat."

"If Urthfist truly hates vermin and foxes as much as Urthblood has led us to believe, then that's hardly surprising. But now that there are some woodland creatures up here as well, it would be very stubborn of him not to speak with us. After all, if he won't talk to a female mouse, then I don't suppose there's anybeast in this Abbey he'd be willing to converse with."

Vanessa leaned forward over the battlements and called down to Urthfist, "Good morning, Lord, and greetings! What brings you and your good hares to Redwall?"

The badger glared up at her. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Abbess Vanessa, and - "

He interrupted her before she could go on. "I highly doubt that."

Vanessa was so taken aback she could not speak. Machus glanced aside at Lady Mina, Alexander and Arlyn and murmured, "Totally beyond reason, as we feared."

The Abbess finally recovered her voice. "Why do you say that, Lord?"

"Because I was told that the leaders of Redwall were all slain by my brother."

Vanessa forced herself to laugh; the sound was cheerless. "Then I am very happy to tell you that you've gotten some bad information. No Redwaller has been slain here. We are all well, and hope to stay that way."

Urthfist's baleful stare moved to Machus. "No Abbess of Redwall would share her home with such creatures as I see now upon your battlements. Tell me who you are, and no more lies, or I shall answer your deceit with more than mere words."

Several of the hares behind him carried longbows, nearly as tall as they were. They stood with weapons lowered, but arrows were notched to their bowstrings. Vanessa did not doubt that they could have their shafts loosed in the space of a heartbeat, and with deadly accuracy.

"I have introduced myself," Vanessa said with authority, "which is more than you have had the courtesy to do."

"You know who I am, and you have been preparing for my arrival. I am Lord Urthfist of Salamandastron, and these are the hares of my Long Patrol. We have come to rid Redwall of such vileness as stands beside you now." Again, his gaze went to the swordfox. "Tell me, and this time speak the truth if you are able, is my brother hiding in there amongst you? Or has he left Redwall in the charge of his murderers and liars, and moved on to spread his evil elsewhere?"

"Lord Urthlood and most of his troops left us some days ago. He ordered some of his forces to remain here to help us defend this Abbey."

"Defend it from what?"

"From you, Lord. He was afraid that you might come here and cause trouble. He was uncertain of your current state of mind. He seemed concerned that your hatred of vermin might have made you ... unreasonable."

Urthfist gaped at her, as if Vanessa had uttered something incomprehensible. Then, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. But his thunderous gales were even more mirthless than her own laugh had been. The sound was chilling, given the circumstances.

He stopped abruptly, his glare on Vanessa once more. "No, Abbess - if that's who you really are - I am not reasonable with creatures that cannot be reasoned with. Or with the lying spies we met on the Western Plains, the mice and moles and hedgehogs who claimed to be residents of Mossflower, fleeing my brother's terror after he conquered Redwall, slew its leaders, and unleashed horror upon these woodlands. I see no signs of such terror in this forest, and yet I see vermin standing guard upon your Abbey walls. You say my brother has been here, but has slain nobeast. I have been deceived by those woodlanders we met on the Plains, or else I am being deceived now. You can see my dilemma, Abbess. What am I to think? What am I to think?"

"I don't know what to think myself," Vanessa answered. "I do not know what is going on between you and your brother, and I do not know anything about mice and moles and hedgehogs who would claim that Urthblood terrorized Redwall. But I do know that my throat will be raw if I have to keep calling down to you from up here. Let us meet and talk like honest creatures. I will invite you inside, if you promise not to harm anybeast within Redwall."

Machus said to her, "Abbess, I must strongly advise against that!"

"Your pet fox does not seem overly fond of that idea," Urthfist called up from the road. "And he has good reason. If I enter Redwall, it will be with all my hares, and we will not leave any of his ilk alive."

"Then you shall not enter Redwall," Vanessa retorted.

"But I must, if I am to believe you are who you claim to be. If you refuse me entry, I can only assume it is because you are an imposter, hiding my brother's wrongs behind these walls. And in that case, though I may not enter this Abbey, nobeast inside may leave. I will slay any who try."

Vanessa stepped back from the battlements. "That does it. Machus, please remove all of your troops from the walltop. Alex, I want you to go tell all the brothers and sisters to come up to the west wall. I want every mouse, mole, hedgehog and squirrel up here for Urthfist to see, or at least as many as can fit. If any of the children are up and about at this early hour, have Maura bring them up here too. We'll show this stubborn badger what kind of beasts are truly in charge of Redwall!"

Alexander and Machus hastened to do her bidding. In very short order, every one of Urthblood's Northlanders was brought down from the ramparts. In the minutes that followed, their places were taken by over a hundred woodlanders, mostly mice dressed in the habits of the Redwall order. Young Droge was there too, along with a few of his early-risen playmates; the irrepressible hedgehog child was not about to miss this spectacle. Maura was there to keep the little ones in line, and even Friar Hugh had left his ovens to answer the summons of his Abbess. It wasn't the total population of the Abbey by any stretch - Sister Aurelia and Cyril and Cyrus and most of the otters and many others were absent - but it was enough to get the point across to Urthfist.

Vanessa leaned over the battlements to address the badger warrior once more. "Now you see what hides behind these walls. Look at these faces, Lord. Are we all imposters? Or will you now believe that Redwall and its creatures have suffered no harm at your brother's paw?"

Urthfist scanned the line of woodlanders peering down at him. "Quite an assemblage. You even have your own badger."

"I am the mother to Redwall's children," Maura said, "but make no mistake, I would fight to the death with my bare claws anybeast who sought to harm any youngster under my care."

"I have not come here to threaten infants or slay goodbeasts," Urthfist said. "My purpose is to liberate Redwall from my brother's influence. If you are not imposters, left here by him to deceive me, then I fear you yourselves have been horribly deceived, perhaps to your very doom."

"I do not know what would lead you to say such a thing," Vanessa called down, "but we may discuss these matters like civilized folk. You may enter Redwall, but only if you swear you will harm nobeast, not even the foxes and vermin of Urthblood's forces."

"I can make no such promise," Urthfist answered. "I will not be responsible for my actions if any enemy of mine comes with reach of my sword, or my claws."

Lady Mina, who had remained on the walltop, whispered to Vanessa, "That's true, Abbess. Even if he comes inside alone and agrees to surrender his weapons, a badger in the grip of the Bloodwrath would be almost unstoppable. He could kill many creatures with just tooth and claw before we'd be able to slay him. Lord Urthblood was right: Urthfist is not acting like a reasonable beast. We dare not risk letting him into the Abbey."

Vanessa shook her head. "I just can't escape the feeling, Mina, that this is all some tremendous misunderstanding. Urthfist is acting stubbornly, but not irrationally ... not if he really came here expecting to find all of Redwall's leaders slain. And his hares ... they seem to be calm and professional soldierbeasts. I cannot believe they would follow him so faithfully if he were truly mad." A light came on in her eyes. "And speaking of hares, that gives me an idea. I think we really do need to speak with Urthfist face-to-face, and I think I know how I can convince him to agree to that."

Once again she called down to Urthfist. "Lord, do you know of a hare named Hanchett?"

The badger stiffened. "What of him?"

"He is staying with us. Lord Urthblood asked that we keep him here, so that he would cause no trouble. As a gesture of good faith, I am prepared to release him to you, this very morning."

Two of the older hares stepped over to their master in the road, holding a hushed and hurried consultation with Urthfist. It was over almost before it began. Urthfist straightened from their huddle and said, "We would welcome that, Abbess."

"As would we. Send two of your hares around to the north side of the Abbey. We will let him out through the small wallgate there ... in an hour's time," Vanessa added, remembering that Hanchett's manacle would have to be filed off first. "Once you have heard what he has to tell you, I hope you will be in a better frame of mind to sit down for a talk with us."

"That will be seen ... Abbess. That will be seen."

00000000000

The midmorning sun dappled the forest floor around Redwall with a bright carpet of ever-changing patterns that shifted and shimmered with every vagrant breath of breeze.

Just north of the Abbey, a fewscore paces from the wallgate, three weather-worn and moss-covered logs placed in a triangle by somebeast or other of an earlier generation now hosted a council of war.

Hanchett had one of the log benches to himself. Across from him on the other two sat Urthfist, Traveller, Major Safford and Captains Polifly, Taywood and Longmeadow. Hanchett had been released through the Abbey's north wallgate, as promised, right after sunrise. Seeing that the Redwallers were as good as their word, and that the area beyond the north gate seemed safe and secure, Urthfist brought his senior hares to this spot for Hanchett's debriefing. All morning they sat listening to their liberated comrade and pumping him for details. They also told Hanchett about everything that had happened from the time of Browder's arrival at Salamandastron up to the present, since Hanchett was utterly mystified by the presence of Urthfist and the Long Patrol in Mossflower.

Hanchett shook his head as Traveller and Safford finished filling him in on their march to Redwall. "Wouldn't have believed any hare could be such a rotter," he lamented of Browder's deception. "Sayin' such terrible thing about Redwall, all lies to lure you away from Salamandastron ... that's one flopped-eared louse, an' no mistake. But then again, after wot I seen here, I can believe better beasts than that fink Browder have been taken in by His Bloodiness an' convinced to serve him."

"So you are sure," Urthfist asked Hanchett, "absolutely sure, that this Vanessa who calls herself Abbess really is what she appears?"

"Yes, I am, M'Lord. For the past two days I've had free run of this Abbey. Well, free as a chap can, with a bally weasel chained to me. No place in it that was off-limits to me. There's been no massacre here. Urthblood's only got about twoscore of his vermin or so in Redwall now, along with a few shrews who are also loyal to him. All the others seem t' be longtime Redwallers. There's no way to fake the sense of community I felt inside there. Every creature has its place an' responsibilities in the day-to-day life of the Abbey, and everybeast knows everybeast else. These are goodbeasts, who love their children and each other. The way they responded to that mousechild who was wounded ... like I said, you just can't fake something like that."

"Well, that's something, at least," Major Safford sighed. "We thought Redwall might have been routed. Now we know it's safe. That's some consolation."

"Scant consolation, if Salamandastron is lost," Urthfist muttered. "My brother must have reached the coast by now. We could never overtake him in time. And I doubt Colonel Clewiston will be able to hold off an assault of that size until we could come to his assistance. My brother knows that mountain, and practices way of war waged by no other creature. He wanted Salamandastron, and it now appears he will have it."

"Poor Clewiston," Safford lamented. "Hope your brother's merciful, but I can't see any hare of the Patrols yielding Salamandastron to him while there's any life left in its body. But, we can hope."

"We will do more than that," Urthfist declared. "We cannot be there, but we are here, and there are still villainous creatures within Redwall. Perhaps we can do nothing to prevent Salamandastron from falling. But we can at least wipe all traces of evil from this good place, so that the decent creatures of the lands will have one sanctuary and refuge untainted by my brother's unsavory influence."

"Wot do you plan t' do, M'Lord?" asked Captain Longmeadow.

"We will hold Redwall under siege until we can make the Abbess see the error of her ways. I will make it clear to her that we will not leave until those beasts of my brother's are properly slain. Whether she invites us in to do the job or turns them out to us here is her choice."

Hanchett grew increasingly antsy as Urthfist spoke his intentions. Traveller noticed the younger hare's discomfort. "I say, Hanch ol' chum. Something wrong?"

"Um, don't mean t' be speakin' outta turn, but, I don't think that strategy would be a very good idea, sir."

Urthfist looked to Hanchett. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, M'Lord, these folks don't see your brother's troops th' way we do. They almost seem t' think of 'em as fellow goodbeasts. They're actually fond of that fox chief who saved the life o' that mouse lad. T'was him who saved the child, after all - "

Urthfist exploded, "After that same mousechild was nearly slain by two of those other wicked beasts!" Hanchett had earlier told the story of Smallert, Wolfrum and Cyrus.

"Well, yes, but the Abbess and the others have already forgiven that weasel who was partly to blame. I spent a good long while chained to that mucker, and I hafta confess he didn't strike me as an altogether badhearted sort. He really is very sorry fer wot he did, an' not just 'cos he's probably gonna get killed fer it - "

"Still can't believe you spent days chained to a blinkin' weasel," Safford murmured. "Don't know how you stood it ... "

"An' the rat who was mostly to blame seems to've run off," Hanchett went on, "tho' a lot o' the beasts I talked to later seemed t' think the wretch was done in by his fellow vermin - "

"They're barbarians!" Urthfist erupted anew. "Bad as any searats! Can't the Abbess see that?"

"But that's just it!" Hanchett protested. "They're not! Now, I never met that rat, but from everything I heard, he prob'ly deserved death. But the rest aren't so bad. The foxes carry themselves like proper soldiers, and honor all the customs of Redwall. Urthblood's shrews were actually the worst o' the bunch, carryin' on 'n' arguin' the way shrews always do. Now, I'm not sayin' these aren't evil beasts who've done terrible things for your brother up in the Northlands, they could be the vilest villains who've ever lived ... but they don't ACT like it. And the Redwall folk can only judge 'em by how they've behaved here at the Abbey. I tell you, M'Lord, the Redwallers do not see them as evil beasts. An' you won't win Redwall over to your cause by threatenin' harm to creatures they see as guests and allies."

Urthfist narrowed his eyes at Hanchett. "Surely you are not suggesting that they would actually fight against us, on the side of my brother's forces?"

"I believe they would, M'Lord. Right now, they're more scared of what you're gonna do than they are of any of your brother's soldiers. They've got otters in there who, beast for beast, are prob'ly a match fer any hare among us, and squirrels who're some o' the best archers you'll find anywhere. If we force 'em into a fight, a lot of us could die ... and there'd be no way fer us to win without spillin' some o' their blood. That would be giving your brother a greater victory than if we did nothing."

The Badger Lord ground his teeth. "How could this have come to pass?" he agonized. "I know that my brother has seduced goodbeasts of the Northlands to his cause, but the creatures of Mossflower should not have been as easily misled. Never did I imagine that Redwall might succumb to his lies. I felt certain they would deny him, as Noonvale did in the north. Has Redwall already been lost beyond all hope of recovery?"

Urthfist bent over and buried his striped face in mailed paws, a picture of despair.

Hanchett stood and walked slowly over to his master. "Sir," he said softly, "the Abbess wants very much to talk with you. You have to forget your crusade against these foxes and vermin for now, and talk to these goodbeasts. They must hear wot you've got to say ... your side of the story, M'Lord. So far, they've only heard your brother's. They're decent folk, and open-minded. They'll hear you out, long as you don't threaten anybeast or go against their laws. Please, sir ... it's wot you have to do."

Urthfist raised his head from his paws and looked at the young scout hare. "What could I possibly say to them that would undo what has been done?"

"Why, the only thing that you can, sir," Hanchett said with determination. "You've got to tell them about your brother's prophecy."

00000000000

The sun stood at its noontide zenith directly over the Abbey. The shadow along the outside base of the north wall was barely wide enough to shade one creature.

Just beyond the shadow line, two badgers stood nose to nose.

"We don't want any trouble here," Maura said to Urthfist, "so don't get any ideas. I may be an unarmored female, but if you threaten our Abbess, you'll quickly discover I'm no weakling. You'll have to get through me to get to her."

"Put aside your fears," the Badger Lord assured her. "I am here only to talk now."

Traveller and Major Safford stood behind Urthfist. Alertly they kept watch over their surroundings. "I say, ma'am," Safford regarded the walltop above, paw to brow. "Wot's with those beasts up yonder?"

"Just a score or so of Redwall's finest squirrel archers," Maura replied. "Don't worry, they're only watching ... as long as this meeting remains peaceful."

"That was the agreement," Urthfist intoned. "I do not break my word."

Maura's gaze strayed to his scabbard. "Nor do you surrender your weapon. That would have been a helpful gesture."

Urthfist waved a paw toward the battlements above. "You take your precautions, I'll take mine. As long as there remain forces of my brother's in this part of Mossflower, I would be foolish indeed to render myself helpless."

"If you say so." Maura turned and motioned behind her. From out of the deeply-shadowed recess of the north wallgate strode a mouse and two squirrels. Maura stepped aside so that they could approach Urthfist, but she did not drop her guard. The Abbess was counting upon her for protection, should the badger warrior go back on his word.

Urthfist bowed his head. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Abbess. It is vital that we talk."

"I would say so," Vanessa concurred. "So, you're finally convinced I really am the Abbess here?"

"I have spoken at length with Hanchett," Urthfist nodded, "and he has told me of all that has happened here during his time at Redwall. I no longer doubt you. I had feared the worst for Hanchett. He is a good scout, but younger and less experienced than many of my Patrols. I am glad to have him back."

"And we were relieved to finally be able to release him to you," Vanessa said. "It is not our way to deny anybeast its freedom."

"Ah," Urthfist nodded. "My brother was only among you for such a short time, and still he had you breaking your own customs for his benefit. That is his way with decent folk who do not guard carefully against his lies. You can imagine what he might have achieved had he dwelt at Redwall for seasons, as he has in the north."

One of the squirrels ground its teeth at this remark.

"Um, yes, well ... " Vanessa turned to her two companions. "This is Alexander, and Lady Mina. Alexander is one our chief defenders, and the present leader of the Mossflower Patrol."

Alex gave a cautious half-bow; Mina merely regarded the badger coolly.

"And you've already met Maura, our Abbey matriarch." Vanessa faced Urthfist. "Ordinarily I would invite you and your hares inside to enjoy the full hospitality of Redwall, but this is rather an awkward situation. Tell us, Lord, why have you come here threatening harm to creatures we have staying with us as our guests?"

"I am here," Urthfist replied, "because a hare named Browder came to us at Salamandastron with reports of dreadful events that had befallen Redwall and Mossflower. He implored that we come to the aid of all the goodbeasts who were in distress in these lands, that I was their only hope. Obviously, he was a spy of my brother's, sent to deliver the only imaginable lie that might convince me to leave Salamandastron. I came to liberate Redwall from the evil creatures who had slain its leaders and enslaved the other decent folk who dwell here." Urthfist glanced up at the walltop, then back to the Redwallers standing before him. "Plainly, no such thing ever happened. I was drawn out by a falsehood, carefully planned by a soulless monster who knew that my concern for the safety of Mossflower's residents could be used as a weapon against me. He realized I would be compelled to act upon his lies. So here I am, Abbess, come to avenge your murder and deliver your brothers and sisters from their oppressor. A wasted quest, while my brother claims the prize I'd sworn to deny him."

"That would be the throne of Salamandastron?" Alex guessed.

Urthfist nodded. "Many times throughout history, searat pirate kings and other warlords have descended upon Salamandastron with their terrible hordes, seeking to capture the mountain for their own. My brother has bested them all. He has defeated me without even having to face me on the field of battle. He triumphed with the deceitful way of the coward, because I am a warrior of honor and he has none."

Alex looked confused. "But, those other creatures you mentioned were all enemies of Salamandastron. Your brother is a Badger Lord, the same as you. In fact, he told us he is the older sibling, entitled to the Lordship of the mountain anytime he cared to claim it. Is this not true?"

Urthfist's face twisted into an expression of sheer hatred. "He gave up the right to that claim twenty seasons ago!" he roared. "When he abandoned his responsibilities and ran off to pursue the ways of evil!"

His explosive outburst was frightful. Vanessa stepped back into the protective arms of the two squirrels, while Maura tensed and leaned forward, lips quivering on the verge of a tooth-bared snarl. The hare duo flanking their badger master laid restraining paws on Urthfist's shoulders; this seemed to restore his temper.

"Forgive me," he said, "I bear you good folk no malice, and mean no disrespect to you, Abbess. But you cannot possibly comprehend what I am feeling right now. To help you better understand, I must tell you of the Prophecy."

"You mean your brother's prophecy?" Vanessa asked.

Urthfist's eyes widened in surprise. "He told you of it?"

"Why, that was the very first thing he spoke of when he came to Redwall," said Vanessa. "He called a council of all the Abbey leaders, and explained it to us."

"What did he tell you?"

"That one day twenty seasons ago, he was gripped by the trance that sometimes overcomes the Badger Lords of Salamandastron, and in that state he carved into the rock walls a prophecy of great doom. He told us that a time of great upheaval and crisis was coming, and may soon be upon us. He wished to strengthen the ties between Redwall and Salamandastron, to form an alliance that would help both of us meet and survive the challenges of the times ahead. He told us a little of his travels these past many seasons, that he has been working to prepare for this period of crisis, and thought that perhaps he could prevent it altogether. Later we learned of his efforts to unite all creatures to the common cause of peaceful cooperation, and spoke with many of his followers who seem to believe he could actually succeed at such a goal. He did not know the exact shape of the threat to the lands which his prophecy predicts, but he does believe that his present course of action holds the greatest hope for survival by the greatest number of creatures."

Urthfist laughed without smiling, a humorless bark. "Is that what he told you? He mixes just enough truth with his lies to make them all the more convincing! Yes, Abbess, there is a prophecy upon the throne room wall of Salamandastron, carved there by my brother's paw. For twenty seasons I have looked upon it, the only beast to set eyes upon its accursed runes, and the sight of it has driven me almost to despair more than once. The prophecy does indeed foretell a time such as the one he described to you ... but it is not vague about the identity of the enemy who shall bring it about. My brother sees it everytime he looks into a mirror, so it is hardly surprising that he neglected to mention this particular detail to you. His own prophecy condemns him as the very creature who will cause these terrible things to pass!"

The Redwallers gaped at him. "Can this be?" the Abbess uttered. "Are you sure of this, Lord?"

"As sure as I am standing here," Urthfist said. "I remember the day this doom was laid upon us, as clearly as if it were yesterday. My brother had disappeared up into the throne room for the better part of a day. That was nothing unusual in itself; Salamandastron is a big place, and I would often go an entire day without seeing him, since we would be occupied in different parts of the fortress, or out upon the mountain's slopes. Those were light and carefree days back then. We were both young Lords, and many generations had passed since any foe had seriously tested Salamandastron. We had no readily apparent enemy, the stronghold was in good repair, and we had scores of faithful, fearless hares to pass the time with. It was as common for us to lend our paws in the gardens and the kitchens, or to engage ourselves upon some task of construction or refurbishment, as to send out patrols or turn our attention to matters of war or defense. It was an era of peace, and we enjoyed it with glad hearts and untroubled minds.

"But on this day ... " The badger's face clouded with the troubled memory. "His scream was heard throughout every part of the mountain, echoing in every chamber and down every corridor. It was not the cry of a sane beast - neither pain nor anger, surprise nor grief, but rather an incoherent roar of madness. I knew it must be Urthblood, for no other creature could have produced such a sound. My first thought was that some unknown enemy had secretly invaded our home and attacked my brother, or else some terrible accident had befallen him, producing such a state of mind that he could only unleash that unreasoning bellow. My hares and I immediately rushed toward the source of the sound, to see what had happened.

"Urthblood was stumbling out of the throne room by the time we got to him, blundering like a beast stunned and half-blind. His face was terrible to behold. It was as if he'd been possessed by demons. I hailed him, tried to calm him and ask what was the matter, but my words could not reach him. He threw me aside with such force that it would surely have killed any lesser creature. By the time I fully recovered, he had fled down past all of our dumbstruck hares, who thankfully had enough sense to stay out of his way, and out onto the mountain slopes. My last sight of him was out on the coastal plains, running north like an animal pursued by the dark host of Hellsgates itself."

Urthfist paused, breathing heavily as if the mere telling of this tale had taken a lot out of him. The Redwallers realized then that this may well have been the very first time he'd ever had to tell it. After all, he'd dwelt alone at Salamandastron ever since these events, with the hares of the Long Patrol as his only companions, and many of them had witnessed this episode firstpaw. Who else would he have had to tell?

Urthfist returned to the tale. "At first I could not guess what his affliction might be; I was mystified, and worried to my heart, for we were close. But at length it occurred to me to go up to the throne room where he'd been when this mania first gripped him. It was then and there that I discovered the hammer and chisel, lying discarded upon the floor, and my eye was drawn to the wall, to see the carvings that had not been there before. I read my brother's prophecy many times in the following days, not wanting to believe it could be true. For half a season I went back and forth in my mind, utterly at a loss as to what I should do. But, finally, I was forced to do the only thing I could. Since my brother showed no sign of returning - indeed, his own prophecy stated that his return would bring disaster - I assumed sole Lordship of the Mountain, and issued orders to my Long Patrol hares that, should Urthblood ever attempt to approach Salamandastron again, he was to be slain without hesitation."

"But, what did the prophecy say, exactly?" Vanessa asked.

"That Urthblood would unleash horrors upon the lands unlike any seen before. He would become a master of war, but he would invent new ways of war, terrible ways that had nothing to do with the defense of decent creatures. He would become a Warlord, not like the vermin horde leaders who have always troubled goodbeasts, but a force of enmity that would attack gullible folk at the level of their very souls. He is the corruptor, who would turn the light of day to eternal night, green forest and pasture to desert sands, the rivers to fire and blood, and forever pervert truth and honesty and decency into tools to further his own lies. He is the enemy of everybeast alive, for he destroys his allies as certainly as he annihilates his foes. And only stupid fools think his friendship will spare them."

Lady Mina spoke up the moment Urthfist had finished speaking. "Is it not possible that you have misinterpreted the prophecy, and that Lord Urthblood is not the evil creature you assume he is?"

Urthfist levelled a gaze at the Gawtrybe squirrel. "It is not."

Mina was not intimidated by the badger's dire manner. "Perhaps we would like to draw our own conclusions, Lord. Please recite the prophecy for us now, word for word, leaving out no part and changing nothing, and we will interpret it our own way."

Urthfist shook his head. "That accursed prophecy was carved in the ancient script of the Badger Lords. No other may read its runes, or hear those words spoken aloud. No other beast may be privy to it. I have not even shared it with my own hares, to whom I would entrust my very life. It cannot be."

"How, then, are we to know you speak the truth?" Mina pressed. "Perhaps to you, the prophecy means something different than it does to your brother, or would to us. If you cannot share it with us openly, then what are we to think?"

"You are to think that I have been forced to live with this prophecy for twenty seasons," Urthfist stated flatly. "If anybeast knows its meaning, it would be me!"

"Lord Urthblood has also lived with it for twenty seasons," said Mina. "I think you are wrong about him. He is the enemy of slavers and vile beasts, and has worked hard to strengthen the lands against the coming crisis."

Urthfist narrowed eyes at Mina that were red-flecked with exasperation and latent rage. "What would any Redwaller know of the things my brother has been doing in seasons past?"

"I am no Redwaller, Lord," Mina declared proudly. "I am Lady Mina of the Gawtrybe, who have sworn allegiance to Lord Urthblood. We do not give our fealty lightly, but we have seen for ourselves what he stands for, and I do not need you or anybeast else to tell me what I must think of him. I came down from the Northlands with Lord Urthblood to aid his cause in Mossflower, and I will make no apologies for it!"

Urthfist's paw was on the hilt of his mighty broadsword, and his posture had subtly shifted to a battle stance. "Then you are my enemy, and I will speak with you no more!"

"I am only your enemy if you make it that way. I bear you no malice, Lord, and I do not believe your brother does either. In the seasons I have known him, he has only spoken well of you. He simply wishes for Salamandastron to be ruled as best it may. Before your hare Hanchett came to us, Lord Urthblood was on his way there only to see if the wisest course was to leave you in command there, not to make war on his own flesh and blood. I assure you, he has left much unfinished business in the Northlands, and I have no doubt he would prefer to return there and leave it to you to oversee the strengthening of ties between Salamandastron and Redwall. But if he sees that he is needed here, then here he will stay. And judging by what I have seen and heard from you, I would say that he is needed here very badly."

Urthfist was actually trembling by the time she'd finished. His two hares had moved close alongside him, whether to assist him in an attack on Mina or try to restrain him the Redwallers could only guess.

"Abbess, remove this corrupted servant of evil from my presence, quickly, before I slay her! If she remains, I will not be responsible for my actions, be she your guest or no!"

Alexander stepped in front of Mina. "You promised no violence! Remember, you are in the sights of a score of squirrel archers who seldom miss their target."

"If you think that would be enough to save this witch of lies, you are very much mistaken," Urthfist growled. "I agreed to meet with Redwallers. My promise of no violence did not extend to the treacherous beasts in my brother's service. Now, take her away! Or she will receive the death she deserves!"

Vanessa said, "I invited Lady Mina to take part in this meeting, My Lord. I deemed that there should be at least one representative of Lord Urthblood's forces here, for the sake of fairness and balance. She seems most willing to talk to you. Lady Mina is no fox, or vermin. In fact, she is directly descended from a Redwall squirrel who journeyed north many, many generations ago, and she has a proud and noble heritage. If you cannot be reasonable and state your case before her, then perhaps we should not be talking to you either. But I will not have you threatening bloodshed in the shadow of my Abbey. Shall I call this off and go back inside, or will you behave as a civilized Badger Lord should?"

Urthfist ground his teeth and worked his jaw, eyes bulging with surpressed rage. He spun and stalked away toward the trees at the forest's edge, nearly bowling over the two hares in the process. There, at a distance from the others, he marched back and forth, shaking his head and muttering to himself. It was almost torturous to watch.

Vanessa asked the hares, "Should I take it that he's finished talking with us for now?"

"Not so fast, ma'am," one replied. "He's still got more to say. Come t' think of it, we've got more t' say too. Just hold there a moment, folks, while I go have a word with His Lord. Let's see if we can't get him back to the bally table, wot?" And that said, the hare sprinted over to the distraught badger and began a hushed but animated conversation with him. Clearly he was trying to calm Urthfist and persuade him to resume the meeting. It didn't look like he was having much success.

Alexander sidled closer to the Abbess. "Well, Vanessa, that could have gone better. Do you think Urthfist can be reasoned with at all?"

"That remains to be seen," Vanessa answered hopefully. "But I'm not ready to put Redwall on a siege footing just yet."


	22. Chapter 48

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty Eight

TRAVELLER'S TALES

The Redwallers stood by for several minutes, watching from a distance while hare and badger conversed. Their discussion was punctuated by numerous grimaces, scowls, head-shakings and emphatic paw gestures provided by Urthfist. The woodlanders could hear snatches of the badger's irate growling, a word here and there, but never enough to catch the gist of the argument.

At last Urthfist seemed to give in to his hare underling, and tromped back over to rejoin the others. His face reflected a mood that was still dark and dangerous.

"I will not stand here and have my sworn word challenged and cast into doubt by any agent of my brother's," he announced, casting a hateful glare toward Lady Mina. "It is more than any self-respecting noblebeast can tolerate, and I would unleash violence if I forced myself to do so any longer. But there are still things which you goodbeasts must hear, and at the wise counsel and urging of Major Safford here, I have decided to let another continue in my stead."

He gestured toward the older of the two hares. "This is Traveller, an old and trusted friend. The very day that I determined my brother to be the enemy and gave orders that he be slain if he ever tried to re-enter Salamandastron, I also dispatched this good hare to follow Urthblood's progress, as closely and unobtrusively as possible, for as many seasons as necessary. Traveller was one of the fastest of the Patrols, and a skilled scout in spite of his young seasons at the time. His open-ended assignment was to observe my brother's actions, and to report back to me periodically whenever he could. Traveller has seen with his own eyes what my brother is capable of. Listen to him well. And if you still doubt me afterwards, then I may as well return to Salamandastron forthwith, because it will mean that the heart and soul of Redwall has been corrupted beyond my power to save."

And with that, Urthfist stalked off to settle his armored bulk on one of the log benches where he and his commanders had debriefed Hanchett that morning.

"Say on, good hare," Mina wryly encouraged Traveller. "But keep in mind, I also have known Lord Urthblood for many seasons. If you speak falsely of events I have witnessed myself, I will know it, and your lies will not stand uncontested."

"Not fond o' liars m'self, ma'am," Traveller retorted. "I can only speak on wot I seen, an' wot other beasts've told me. That's been my bally job fer twenty seasons, an' I take it right seriously, sure as your bushy tail's stuck to your backside."

"Well, then I can't imagine what you've seen and heard that would bear out Lord Urthfist's suspicions," said Mina. "In all the time I've known him, Lord Urthblood has only worked for the betterment of all goodbeasts in the Northlands. Only wicked beasts fear him, and with good reason."

"Guess that makes anybeast who doesn't agree with him wicked, wot? At least that's the way it appears t' me. But I'm not here t' bandy barbs with you, ma'am. It's these Redwall folk who need to hear wot I got t' say, an' I'll say it whether you like it or not."

Vanessa held up both paws. "You'll both have a fair chance to state your cases. For now, though, I want to hear Traveller out." She turned to the hare. "It seems you would have us believe that we invited an evil beast into our Abbey. Besides the prophecy, which only Urthlood and Urthfist have ever seen, what makes you so convinced that this is so?"

"It's the whole way he operates," Traveller explained. "The effect that Urthblood has on other creatures. It's like 'is Lordship said - he does something to their souls. It's hard to explain, if you haven't felt it for yourself. Y'see, there are all these little places up in the Northlands, settlements and villages, some a mere score or two o' creatures strong. Urthblood's visited most of 'em, an' most have come 'round to his side. They've accepted his rule, an' do wot he tells 'em to. He recruits new followers from every community he stops at, demands food 'n' supplies, an' usually leaves some o' his vermin troops behind as a sorta garrison force, even if there's no garrison. Makes decent beasts leave their homes t' make room fer his own nastybeasts. No place is ever the same after Urthblood's been there."

"I can believe that," Vanessa muttered, thinking of all the changes that had taken place at Redwall since Urthblood's arrival. "And what if a settlement resists him?"

"Then he cuts it off," Traveller answered. "He won't attack it directly or try to take it over by force, he's way too crafty and devious fer that. No, he simply orders the communities that do follow him to have nothing to do with those who don't. That means no trade, no exchanges, no visits ... creatures from those villages aren't even allowed to use the paths and trails that run through territory held by Urthblood. Only a very few settlements are self-sufficient enough to exist in total isolation, so most come around eventually. They really don't have any choice. And Urthblood's power 'n' influence keeps growin'.

"But it's th' places that cozy right up to him that're the worst. I've been to a few of 'em, and it's like ... well, it's like their spirit has been crushed. Communities wot were bright an' cheery spots before Urthblood got to 'em become dreary an' empty, like their soul's been sapped. They feel dead, even if the exact same folks're still dwellin' there as always. Part of it's from livin' under occupation, 'cos that's exactly wot agreein' to Urthblood's terms amounts to, acceptin' his armed vermin in your midst to make sure you follow his laws, but it goes deeper'n that, even ... like I said, it's hard to get across to anybeast who hasn't experienced it firstpaw."

"And this is your evidence, your proof of Lord Urthblood's evil?" Lady Mina scoffed. "Some vague and indescribable feeling? You don't know very much about the Northlands, do you? I am a native of those lands, and undoubtedly know their ways better than you. Those 'bright and cheery spots' you speak of were most probably neither bright nor cheery to begin with, since those folk would have lived under constant threat of raid from one horde of villainous beasts or another. Security must come before prosperity, and now that those communities are united under Lord Urthblood's protection, they can enjoy true peace and plenty for the first time in their lives. He has never forced any goodbeast into his service against its will, and those he does enlist are free to leave at any time. He confiscates nothing from decent creatures that they cannot be convinced to give of their own choosing. And as for turning goodbeasts out of their homes to make room for his soldiers, that has never happened, to the best of my knowledge. You yourself explained that recruits are usually taken at each settlement ... which leaves room in those homesteads for Lord Urthblood to station a few of his more seasoned veterans. Yes, things are changing in the Northlands, Abbess ... but they are changing for the better. I will readily admit that there might be some nervousness and uncertainty on the part of some goodbeasts who are learning to think of foxes and vermin as friends for the first time, just as there was here at Redwall. This Abbey's spirit has not been crushed, nor its ways perverted, even though you gave Lord Urthblood your hospitality, and followed some of his counsel, and now call his chief swordfox a true friend. As it is here, so too is it in the Northlands."

Traveller stroked his whiskers calmly. "Well, if you're gonna bring up the ways of Redwall, ma'am, let's talk about Hanchett. Urthblood had these folks keepin' him prisoner, in violation of their own rules. You see how it works, Abbess? Wot would he've had you doin' if he'd dwelt here fer a season or two? Picture that, an' you'll have an idea of wot's been goin' on up north fer twenty seasons."

"You cannot compare the two," Mina objected. "The Northlands have always been a harsh and turbulent region, not at all like Redwall or Mossflower. We of the Gawtrybe, along with the shrews and otters of the broadstream, had become stern and warlike over many generations, as a matter of our own survival. Lord Urthblood did not make us this way. But we were only too happy to swear him our loyalty, once he'd explained what he was trying to do, and demonstrated that he might actually be able to achieve that impossible goal."

"So you're, wot, a pawful of woodlanders, serving His Bloodiness alongside a vast horde of thievin', murderin', slave-takin' barbarians? Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but that army ain't for keepin' peace, unless it's the peace of tyranny."

"I beg YOUR pardon, sir, but the squirrel archers of the Gawtrybe number nearly a thousand, not counting our children and old ones. Lord Urthblood's otters and shrews together number nearly as much, with hundreds more mice, hedgehogs and moles on top of that. All told, we woodlanders actually outnumber the foxes, rats and weasels under Lord Urthblood's service. You might have known this, if you'd come to us in open friendship, rather than spying on us from a distance ... and not spying very well, it would appear."

Traveller rubbed at his chin. "Yah. Or I might've known it if I hadn't run smack into a wall of nasty vermin patrols every time I tried to venture very far into Urthblood's territory. He knew I was there, you can jolly well believe he did, an' he didn't want us findin' out any more than he could help us findin' out."

"None of this explains why we of Lord Urthblood's forces are staying at Redwall peacefully, while your master comes here threatening violence and bloodshed to creatures who have never done him any harm. I would say he is acting more like an enemy of peace than Lord Urthblood ever has."

"Wouldn't jolly well be here t'all if it weren't fer that blinkin' spy Browder, sent by Urthblood with lies to lure our master and most of the Long Patrol out of Salamandastron. Are those the tactics of an honest and noble warrior, making up a story about Redwall's leaders being slaughtered? An' by th' by, would you happen to be acquainted with this Browder chap, ma'am? You seem t' know all the other woodlanders His Bloodiness has workin' for him."

"I was not aware that Lord Urthblood had any hares in his service," Mina said, "so I cannot comment on your so-called spy one way or the other. And, by the by, it offends me to hear you refer to Lord Urthblood as 'His Bloodiness.' I would politely request that you stop doing so."

"Sorry, ol' gel," Traveller said, without the slightest hint of apology in his voice. "Old habits, don'tcha know."

Mina turned to Vanessa. "Abbess, have you really heard anything here that substantially changes your view of the situation?"

"Well," Vanessa said, "at least now we can better understand why Lord Urthfist is behaving as he is. But whether he's right about the prophecy ... " She spread her paws toward Traveller in uncertainty.

Major Safford nudged Traveller in the ribs. "Tell em 'bout the pygmy shrews," he whispered.

"S'pose I'll hafta, chum." Traveller said to Vanessa, "If you really want to know wot kind o' bloody beast you've been dealin' with, lemme tell you 'bout one of th' first things Urthblood did when he stumbled up into the Northlands.

"Atop some cliffs along the shores of the eastern sea there lived a tribe of pygmy shrews. They'd dwelt there for countless seasons, p'raps longer'n there've been Badger Lords in charge of Salamandastron. Now, these shrews never did no real harm to anybeast, tho' they were rude an' contentious as all shrews can be, an' they did have a rather unsavory habit of detainin' bypassers for a spell to make 'em serve as babysitters fer their bratty children. Not 'xactly sportin', but they were never able to keep their prisoners for very long before they'd escape. Heard it said m'self that those shrews may've turned a blind eye an' let their unwillin' servants go free after awhile, not keep 'em as real slaves.

"Anyway, Urthblood wandered their way one day, an' ended up chained to a bally log, t' keep him hobbled. They explained to him wot they expected of him. Biggest bally mistake that lot ever made. 'Course, they had no idea wot kind o' monster they had on their paws. Urthblood was still young, an' hadn't taken to wearing that bloody red armor all the time, so mebbe they had 'im pegged as harmless.

"Well, harmless he wasn't. Urthblood went into a rage, shatterin' that log to splinters an' breakin' free of his bonds. Then he went on a killing frenzy. By all accounts, he slew as many as two hundred of the poor blighters with his bare teeth 'n' claws, all in a matter of minutes. Males, females, and yes, children too. Nothing they could do to stop him. The only shrews who survived were those who could run fast enough to escape his insane wrath. The survivors were scattered. To this day, they have yet to reunite into any proper tribe. Perhaps they never will again. I've met a few of 'em in my journeys, an' they all told the story the same way. No doubt in my mind that it all happened exactly as they told me ... and as I've just told it to you."

Vanessa looked gravely toward the squirrel Lady. "Do you know anything of this, Mina?"

She nodded forlornly. "Yes, I have heard the story. Lord Urthblood has openly admitted that it is true. But you must remember, Abbess, he has always despised slavers over all other types of villainous creatures. He was still newly arrived to the Northlands, and had not yet learned to control his Bloodwrath as thoroughly as he can today. His deeds of that day were a terrible and tragic mistake, as he would tell you himself if he were here. But they were also understandable. They did try to enslave him, after all. How was he to know that they only intended to keep him a prisoner for a matter of days, or that they did not mean to kill him if he displeased them? Knowing what he knows now, he realizes he did great harm to creatures who were not truly evil. But they must have looked evil to him at the time."

"Still, this is a disturbing thing to learn," said Vanessa. "Certainly, we knew Lord Urthblood must have slain many enemies in his campaigns up north. But to have wiped out almost an entire tribe ... to have slain children, when even the adult pygmy shrews must have been helpless in the face of his fury ... even if it did take place a long time ago, and far from Mossflower, it does not speak well of his character. A beast who is capable of that, one wonders what else he might be capable of."

"Now you're finally startin' to see sense, ma'am," said Major Safford.

"Do not judge him by that one misdeed, Abbess," Mina implored. "To do so would be to deny the considerable good he has achieved. This tragedy occurred in the Northlands, not far from the place I call home. We, who were closest to it, have learned to forgive Lord Urthblood for that youthful lapse in judgement, and look past it. I know the good folk of Redwall are capable of doing the same. If you weren't, there is a weasel in your cellars who would not be alive as we speak."

Vanessa looked doubtful. "Now, Mina, there is a world of difference between this, and what Smallert did."

"Only because there is a world of difference between those two creatures. One is a Badger Lord. If his power and his achievements are greater, then it must be expected that his mistakes will be equally great. The question now is whether he has learned from this mistake. And I can tell you with absolute confidence that he has."

"Yes, but just wot was it that he learned?" Traveller ventured. "Did he slay those shrews because he hated slavers so much, or does he now tell everybeast he hates slavers to cover for the slaughter he committed? Makes a chap wonder, which came first?"

Mina gave Traveller a sharp glance. "The mere suggestion that Lord Urthblood would play so fast and loose with his deepest moral beliefs does offend me, hare."

"Oh, truly? Then let's get off that sore subject an' on to some of his more recent activities, wot? Urthblood does fight slavers. But then, he has to, doesn't he, if he wants to win over goodbeasts. Harder to see 'im for wot he is, when he's fightin' 'gainst something that, on the face of it, makes him look good by comparison. But, his skirmishes with the slavers haven't all gone as well as they might've, wot? Seems he kills a lot of the very slaves he's tryin' to save, along with their captors. Makes almost a regular habit of it, from wot I hear. I'd say he could use a little more finesse, if the lives of innocent goodbeasts really meant a pile of salt to 'im. But I don't expect him to stop this practice anytime soon. Y'see, the slaver bands are too rich a source for his vermin recruits. A lotta those stinkers he's got under arms today were slavers at one time or 'nother, so he can't hate their kind too much, wot?"

"Again, you twist the truth," Mina charged. "Battles with slavers can be fierce, and confusing, especially at night. Those cruel beasts will not think twice about using their captives as living shields. Sometimes they even force their slaves to fight us. Regrettable as it is, some do not survive our efforts to free them. But they would not be in jeopardy in the first place were it not for the slavetakers, and them we put to rest in the ground so that they will never steal another goodbeast ever again.

"As for the former slavers he keeps in his service, Lord Urthblood believes most strongly that all beasts are capable of decency, if they're given the proper guidance and discipline. He can tell the difference between an evil blackheart and a poor misguided wretch who still has some basic goodness at its core. Those he determines to be beyond all redemption, he slays. The rest he offers a second chance, in his service. And most of them make good. Just ask any woodlander in the north."

"If things up in the Northlands are so peachy," challenged Traveller, "why's Noonvale livin' under a blinkin' state of siege?"

Mina bristled. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Ho, no? Well, this says I do." The hare withdrew from one pocket a small, ornate compact of intricate silver swirl design. He held it out to Vanessa. "This's fer you, ma'am. The leaders of Noonvale said it was a token for the Abbot or Abbess of Redwall, to give it to 'em if I ever got down this way. They said you'd recognize it."

Vanessa took the flat trinket and inspected it. "Well, I can't say that I ... oh, just a moment ... " She unsnapped the fastener and carefully opened the compact. Within lay a pressed and flattened rose blossom. Dried though it was, the glossy petals still shone the most exquisite shade of deep purplish red.

A smile of recognition lit her face. "The Late Rose," she murmured.

Mina craned her neck to glimpse the flower. "Does this mean something to you, Abbess?"

Vanessa nodded. "Long ago, in the early generations of Redwall, an emissary of Noonvale came here and told us of our founder Martin the Warrior's adventures in the north, before he came to Mossflower. It was then that we learned about his love and loss of the mousemaid Laterose, who was tragically slain in battle. This envoy carried with her a gift of the very rosebush for which Laterose had been named. It was planted that spring in our gardens, and has flourished all the generations since. It produces blossoms like no other." Vanessa snapped the compact closed and held it up. "This proves that Traveller has indeed visited Noonvale. And I am most interested to hear what he has to say on the matter."

"Wot's t' say, ma'am, except they regard Urthblood as a bad egg. Don't care fer wot he's doin', and refused to throw in their lot with him. They thought it was important that Redwall knows where they stand, and their advice is for you folks not to have anything t' do with him either."

"Has Urthblood attacked Noonvale?" Vanessa asked.

"Of course not," Lady Mina said sharply.

"He hasn't had to," Traveller said, "'cos he's got 'em bottled up tighter'n a cork in a barrel of rotgut. Can't set foot outside Noonvale without runnin' into his frightful minions."

Mina's tail switched furiously back and forth in aggravation. "This is preposterous! Abbess, I was at Lord Urthblood's side when he went into Noonvale and spoke with their elders. Let me tell you what really went on there."

"By all means."

"Lord Urthblood went to Noonvale just as he came to Redwall: to explain his prophecy, offer his assistance, and seek an alliance. They turned him down, and rather ungraciously if you ask me. What you must understand is that Noonvale has always been vehemently isolationist, to a fault. They prefer not to involve themselves in affairs beyond their little haven for fear that the troubles of the wider world might find a way into their peaceful community. Lord Urthblood supposed that, once they had heard all about his prophecy, they might be convinced to lend him their support. But they could think only of themselves, just as they have always done, and turned us out of Noonvale with bad grace. But, in spite of their ingratitude, they now enjoy the full benefit of Lord Urthblood's toils. They are surrounded on all sides by creatures loyal to Urthblood ... which is to say, they are more secure and better protected now than at any time in their history. If they should ever change their minds and join our alliance, they would be a welcome partner in our efforts to bring peace and security to all the Northlands. Until then, they enjoy the full protection of the Gawtrybe, the shrews and otters of the Broadstream, and all the other creatures in Lord Urthblood's service."

"Funny you should mention those blokes," said Traveller. "The Noonvale folk have always considered the river beasts to be their friends an' allies, but now they say Urthblood's turned 'em against Noonvale. Now that's hardly the doin's of a decent creature, wot?"

"The Noonvalers are simply wrong, if they believe that," Lady Mina responded. "Most of the shrews and otters would give their lives in the defense of Noonvale, as surely as they would give their lives for Lord Urthblood. But it irritates them that they would be willing to sacrifice so much for Noonvale, while its folk will make no sacrifices in return. But they've hardly been turned against Noonvale, as you so melodramatically put it."

"Then why do those goodbeasts feel like they've been cut off?" the hare challenged.

"Noonvale cut itself off!" Mina cried, losing patience. "They made no real attempt to understand what Lord Urthblood is really trying to do, or else they chose to misunderstand, for the sake of keeping their society closed off from outsiders. We were the ones who invited them to be a part of something greater. It was they who insisted on keeping their old ways, which we respect even though we disagree with them. They've no right to complaim about a situation they brought on themselves!"

"Nevertheless," said Vanessa, "if Noonvale feels they are under siege, that is not a promising state of affairs. They would not have given Traveller this keepsake, and the message with it, unless they considered the situation most dire. Mina, has Lord Urthblood gone out of his way to reassure Noonvale that he does not threaten them in any way?"

"Abbess, he has gone farther out of his way for Noonvale than they deserve. All the other decent creatures of the Northlands have decided to join Lord Urthblood in his cause. Should they have chosen otherwise, just so that Noonvale would have the comfort of keeping things the way they have always been? Well, things are not going to stay the same. My Lord's prophecy is proof enough of that. If Noonvale will not join us, neither will we let them hold us back, and keep us from doing what must be done. That would be a greater wrong than any they imagine has been done to them."

She spun on Traveller. "And how," she demanded, "did you manage to enter and leave Noonvale, if it's under siege as you maintain, and there were hordes of vermin blocking your every step? Your own tale gives lie to your accusations."

Traveller could not be goaded. "T'wasn't easy, ma'am. But I am a scout of the Long Patrol. That gives me just a tad more infiltratin' ability than those muckers're used to dealin' with, wot?"

Mina turned to Vanessa. "This is getting more ludicrous by the moment. The next thing you know, this hare will be repeating his friend Hanchett's claim that Lord Urthblood is allied with Tratton, the searat King!"

"Oh, but he is," Traveller said.

"That's a lie!" Mina shouted. "And the most unbelievable one you've told yet. Lord Urthblood considers the searat pirates his mortal enemies. He would never have anything to do with them!"

"Oh, dear, this does cause a problem," Traveller put on a comical, overly-pained expression. "I'm not in the habit of callin' ladyfolk liars. But you leave me no bally choice 'cept to make an exception in your case."

He looked at the Redwallers. "Abbess, I'll tell you one story more, an' then you can all retire inside your fine Abbey an' make up your own minds as to whether I'm bein' truthful. Please indulge me that one final tale, then I'll be done.

"Seven seasons after Urthblood left Salamandastron, he came down from the Northlands to the shores of the western sea. At first I thought he might be makin' fer home, so I followed him as closely as I dared, not wantin' to miss a single step. If Salamandastron was his destination, I knew I'd hafta sprint ahead to give Lord Urthfist warning. Even tho' he was alone, havin' left behind all his followers in the north, I still wasn't about t' let him confront my master by surprise.

"But he didn't go anywhere near Salamandastron. He stopped at the shore well north of there, and stood on the dunes lookin' out t' sea. For two days that's all he did - just stand there, not eatin' or drinkin' or sleepin' ... just starin' out at the waters, like he was in a trance. Almost thought he might've died standin' up, but no such bally luck. I laid low a few stone's throws away, watchin' him the whole time. Don't think he ever saw me, but with that one, who can be sure?

"At the end of the second day, a terrible storm blew up. A regular ten-season gale, with rain that nearly pelted me down below the sands. A sensible beast would've sought shelter, but Urthblood stood out in the midst of it all like a giant stone statue, an' I kept up my vigil on him - two crazies out in the rain, an' to this day I don't know which of us was the crazier. At least I had my travel cloak t' hold over my head an' keep off some o' the rain. But I hadta pop up every few minutes to make sure he didn't try t' slip away an' disappear into the storm. Wouldn'ta been hard, not in that kind o' downpour.

"I was between pop-ups, hunkered down low against the lashing wind 'n' rain, when I heard a horrendous rending an' crashing tumult that drowned out the storm noise. Up I sat, an' wot did my peepers see but a pirate ship, all smashed up an' wrecked an' splinterin' to pieces right before my eyes. T'were't any little dinghy, mind you, but a full-sized dreadnought, triple-masts 'n' all. Must've been driven onto a reef, an' just right too, for it to've come apart like that. The screams of those poor wretches was almost louder than the ear-splittin' racket of their ship breakin' to smithereens. An' there was Urthblood, standin' right above the whole mess in the same spot he'd held fer two days, just like he knew it was gonna happen."

Vanessa glanced at Maura and Alexander. "I guess he really does have prophetic vision ... and not just for what he carved into the walls of Salamandastron."

"That he surely does, ma'am," Traveller said. "Never did doubt it myself for a moment, after that day. There were powers of fate at work then, an' not just him knowin' when an' where to meet that pirate ship. The bally weather itself was part of that play, 'cos no sooner did that wreckage come to rest on the sands than the rain shut off, the clouds parted, and the sun came out, lightin' up all that nautical carnage. Must have been nearly fivescore corpses washed up on the beach an' rollin' 'round in the surf. Not a pretty picture.

"But at least twoscore of those searat blighters did survive the wreck, includin' their captain: Whiteclaw, he was called back then, but it was the very same blackheart who today calls himself Tratton, the Searat King. Didn't know it at the time, o' course; all I knew was that I'd better beat a hasty retreat, wot with so many searats and Urthblood himself swarmin' all over the shore. That I did, back up to some higher ground, where I could still keep an eye on all o' them without gettin' discovered or captured m'self."

"But, what did Lord Urthblood want with Tratton?" Vanessa asked. "Or Whiteclaw, or whatever ... "

"Wish I coulda stayed close enough to hear wot they said to each other. Unfortunately, I'm rather attached to my hide, an' I've a sneakin' suspicion that lot would've tried to take it away from me. But I could see well enough wot they were all about. For the next fortnight, Urthblood helped those searats build a brand new bally ship from the ruined scraps of the old one. Wasn't nearly as big as it originally was, but then it didn't hafta be, most o' them scurvy rats perishin' in the wreck. Finished up plenty big enough fer twoscore searats an' one blinkin' big badger. Soon as it was seaworthy, off they sailed into th' west, Urthblood an' Tratton Whiteclaw standin' side by side on the bally captain's deck like they were old buddies. They all stepped on board together. No way he was their captive, forced to go with 'em 'gainst his will - not that a mere forty searats woulda had a chance against Urthblood, if he went into one o' his killin' moods - but they clearly weren't his prisoners anymore'n he was theirs. They were all in cahoots, plain an' simple."

Traveller held up a paw of pledge. "I didn't see the slaughter o' the shrews, or Urthblood's visit to Noonvale, or any of the bloody battles he fought where goodbeasts lost their lives. I learned 'bout all that from the survivors an' witnesses of those events. But this, Abbess, this I did see with my own eyes. Urthblood and Tratton have sailed together as bally companions. An' anybeast who'd claim it isn't true is a liar." For the barest instant, his gaze flicked over toward Lady Mina.

Vanessa said, "Lord Urthblood told us he'd spent some time at sea, but never did he provide details of those voyages. He merely said that he was present at the final confrontation, when Farca slew Garwal, and then he slew Farca."

"Which cleared the bally way for Tratton," Traveller jumped in. "Don'tcha see? If Urthblood knew enough t' be at that spot where the ship crashed, he must've also known wot was gonna happen if he went to sea with those rats. He knew he hadta be there during the fight between Farca an' Garwal, so he could slay Farca an' remove Tratton's competition. Urthblood put Tratton on the throne of Terramort! An' if he didn't know that's wot he was doin', then I'm a bally seagull!"

Alexander shook his head in disbelief. "So, you're saying that Urthblood and Tratton are actually allies?"

"It can't be," Mina insisted, although now she did not sound so sure of herself. "It's not possible. Searats are slavekeepers. Lord Urthblood would have no truck with them. Why, I myself have heard him openly curse Tratton as a vile plague upon all decent creatures, and as his personal enemy."

"Well, then, he's got you jolly well hoodwinked, wot? Or maybe he thought Tratton would be his to control, if he helped Tratton gain power, an' that wicked searat got ideas of his own, once he was on the throne. Either way, Urthblood isn't exactly bein' forward with all us goodbeasts, is he? Which goes with wot's in his prophecy. The truth don't mean much to a beast like Urthblood."

Vanessa asked Traveller, "You say you've been tracking Urthblood these past twenty seasons. Then you should be able to tell us, how long was he at sea with Tratton?"

"A season an' a half, ma'am," the hare replied. "T'was a midsummer storm wot wrecked Whiteclaw's ship, an' wasn't 'til the last few days of the followin' autumn that he came ashore again. That was farther north than where the wreck happened, an' he went right back up to the proper Northlands to carry on his terrors there."

The Abbess turned to Lady Mina. "You should be able to remember this, Mina. Was there a late summer and autumn that Urthblood spent away from the Northlands?"

The Gawtrybe squirrel nodded. "Those days are well remembered up north. His early campaigns had already done much to diminish the evil abroad in the lands, and by that time he had many beasts in his service, including Machus. Even then, Urthblood trusted Machus enough to put that fox in charge of all his vermin troops, while my brother Marinus took time away from the Gawtrybe to command the woodlander divisions. There was strife between vermin and woodlanders, and within the vermin ranks themselves. But Machus and Marinus worked together to keep the army united and disciplined in Lord Urthblood's absence. It could have been a disastrous time, with all the progress and achievements undone if the fox and vermin soldiers had turned their backs on their new position and reverted to their old barbarous ways. They didn't, and it wasn't due solely to Machus's splendid efforts. Lord Urthblood had so impressed his determination upon the beasts under him that it had become unthinkable to most of them to harbor treasonous thoughts against their new master, even though he wandered far away in distant lands. It was an important test, and convinced many doubters that Lord Urthblood's endeavors were to be taken seriously, and could succeed. When he finally did return that winter, enrollment in the ranks nearly doubled in a very short time."

"And when he returned, did he tell you all about the splendid time he'd had sailin' the seas with searats?" Traveller asked sarcastically.

"No," Mina said coldly. "He did not."

"And there you have it," Traveller said to the Redwallers. "I've said my piece, an' now I'll leave it up to you good folk to decide wot comes next. I think everything you've heard here should be enough to make a beast with any sense at all doubt every bally thing Urthblood's told you."

"I am troubled by a number of things," said Vanessa. "I'm troubled by the slaughter of the shrew tribe, which even you, Mina, admit did happen. I'm troubled by Urthblood's going to sea with a beast he now reviles as an enemy of every good creature - an event Traveller says he witnessed firstpaw. And I am troubled by this mysterious hare Browder, who journeyed to Salamandastron bearing false reports of terrible things happening here at Redwall. If Urthblood truly did arrange such a deceit - and I must say, I cannot conceive of anybeast else who might have stood to gain from this ploy, save Tratton himself - then it lends considerable weight to Traveller's claim that truthfulness does not indeed mean much to Urthblood. And if this is the case, how are we to believe anything he has told us?"

To Mina she said, "You have known Urthblood for many seasons. Do you think Browder went to Salamandastron at his bidding?"

Mina shrugged. "I have never much involved myself in matters of subterfuge and propaganda. If Lord Urthblood did dispatch this hare to mislead his brother, he must have had a very good reason for doing so."

"That's not very reassuring, Mina," Vanessa said with furrowed brow. "There is never any good reason for speaking false."

"Hear hear!" seconded Traveller.

Mina scowled at the hare. "I think we're losing sight of the main point. Which is that, prophecy or no, Lord Urthblood is the rightful heir to the throne of Salamandastron, anytime he cares to assert the claim. For Urthfist to deny him is a violation of a tradition that predates Redwall. Since we're throwing around accusations at Badger Lords, let me suggest that perhaps Urthfist has grown fonder of his caretaker's power than is good for him. Why has nobeast here commented on another obvious possibility: that Urthfist chooses to interpret his brother's prophecy as he does so that he will have an excuse to keep the Lordship of the mountain for himself?"

"Madam, you offend me!" Traveller exclaimed, paw to his breast.

"Good. Now we're even."

"Your argument makes no sense," Major Safford protested. "If the only thing Lord Urthfist cares about is keepin' Salamandastron for himself, wot's he doin' just over there," he pointed over to where the glowering badger sat upon his log bench, "while his brother is leading an army to capture the mountain by force? If wot you said had a grain of truth to it, he woulda bottled us all up inside Salamandastron an' not journeyed forth for anything. We're only here 'cos some lyin' spy of a hare told us Redwall and Mossflower were in need of our help. We travelled all this way to give aid to goodbeasts we thought were in trouble. Now I ask you, are those the actions of a selfish beast whose only concern's keepin' his grip on power?"

"I would say not," Vanessa agreed with Safford. "But they could still be the actions of a creature who has honestly misunderstood the situation. As uncomfortable as I am with some of what I have learned about Urthblood today, I am still prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he is not here to answer these charges himself. We are all agreed that his prophecy foretells dire times to come. The only disagreement is whether he himself is the cause of the crisis, as Urthfist insists, or is working to meet or prevent these troubles, as he and his followers maintain. If he is genuinely acting in what he believes to be the best interests of the lands, he may be forced to drastic measures. Even his sea voyage with Tratton might have some greater purpose which is not apparent to us now. How are such ordinary gentlebeasts as we to fathom the motivations of a creature driven by such a prophecy? We can only judge these things by what we have seen ourselves. To us, Lord Urthblood has not demonstrated himself to be some terrible ogre. And he has many decent and noble beasts who follow him loyally.

"Don't mistake me, my good hares - we are not about to discount you and your master's warnings out of paw. But we Redwallers are creatures of peace, and we would be loathe to see conflict between Urthblood and Urthfist when there may be a way to avoid it. One of our novices is travelling with Urthblood even now, sent by us as a mediator who will work to head off any clash that he may be able to prevent. I ask you: if Urthfist truly is mistaken in his interpretation of the prophecy, if Urthblood is not the evil tyrant you've all become convinced he is, then is there not some hope for a peaceful end to this? If this truly is all some tremendous misunderstanding, the only way you'll find out is to sit down and talk to each other. I will place the full resources of Redwall at the disposal of both sides in this matter, and do everything within my power as Abbess to resolve this difference without bloodshed. But there is only so much I can do on my own. Both sides must be reasonable, and want peace with each other, if there is any hope of avoiding conflict."

Lady Mina spoke first. "I have said before, Abbess, and I will say again, I do not consider Lord Urthfist and his hares to be my enemies, and I do not believe Lord Urthblood thinks of them as such either. I would readily agree to partake in any talks that would lead these two Badger Lords to work as one for the benefit of all decent creatures."

Vanessa nodded, and turned to the two hares. "And what about you?"

"With all due respect, ma'am," Traveller answered, "if that bloody beast tries to retake Salamandastron fer his own, there's gonna be war, an that's that."

Alexander asked, "And what if he's already taken it, or does so in the next few days? If Lord Urthblood comes to control Salamandastron and then shows a willingness to talk to you peacefully, would you still deny him the opportunity?"

"His Bloodiness doesn't do anything peacefully. Doesn't bloody know how." Traveller struck a posture of defiance. "Please understand, we left a score of our chums behind at Salamandastron. They're as good as dead, 'cos they won't stand a chance against Urthblood's horde, but that won't stop 'em from fightin' to the death to keep that monster outta our home. Gonna miss those lads 'n' lasses, they're good hares, every one of 'em."

"If they fight against the rightful ruler of Salamandastron," Mina said coolly, "then it would be their own fault. Hopefully, they'll have better sense than that."

Vanessa cut off any further exchange of words. "I've heard all I need to here. Traveller, Major, I thank you for your counsel, and your concern, and please tell Lord Urthfist that we will carefully consider all we've been told today, by him and by you. Tell him also that you are all welcome to come inside our Abbey and enjoy our hospitality, but only if you swear you will do harm to no creature on our premises, not even foxes and vermin in his brother's service. Let us know if he will abide by those terms, and we will be most amenable to having you as our guests."

"Oh, well, hold on just a moment then, wot?" Major Safford courteously bowed out of the circle and jogged over to Urthfist. The Redwallers saw him salute his badger master and commence talking very rapidly.

"Now, what's all that about?" Maura wondered.

"I s'pect ol' Saff's just bringin' His Lord up t' date," Traveller replied. "Wants to make sure there's nothing more needs to be said 'fore you goodbeasts retire back inside your Abbey."

After a minute, Urthfist rose from his log bench and strode over to the group.

"Shortly you will be returning to the fastness of Redwall, where agents of my brother will be free to speak their lies into your ears and seek to explain away or diminish all that I and my hares have told you, while we will remain out here, unable to rebuke them. You say they are no threat to Redwall, Abbess, but I assure you they are not as harmless to your way of life as you seem to think. Fortunately, there is one thing yet that you may do that will prove whether I am right about the threat they represent to you."

"And that is?" Vanessa prompted.

"Ask them to leave. I will give you my word, as a Lord of the Mountain, that I will let them pass unmolested from Mossflower if they agree to depart. If you still think you fully control Redwall, Abbess, ask them to leave. And then perhaps you will discover how little power over your own home my brother has left you."


	23. Chapter 49

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Forty-Nine

Machus and Lady Mina met at the top of the steps down to Cavern Hole. It was evening, and most of the Abbeydwellers were taking their dinner outside. But for the two Northlanders, eating would have to wait.

Machus ushered the squirrel Lady ahead of him down the stairs. "I'm surprised it took so long for the Abbess to call this council," he said. "I would have thought she'd want to meet with all of us as soon as she came in from talking with Lord Urthfist."

"I heard she spent all afternoon alone in her study. I guess she wanted to deliberate in solitude before she sought our input."

"Well, we have the time, I suppose," the swordfox mused. "Urthfist has his hares deployed around every side of the Abbey, but so far he seems content to keep us under siege. He knows better than to try to force his way in. We'll be able to consider all our options at our leisure."

All the Abbey leaders were at their places when Mina and Machus arrived. Unlike the previous councils they'd held together, all the seats on either side of the Abbess were filled. The two latecomers traded a puzzled glance as they walked around to take the two seats that were directly opposite Vanessa. This change in the seating arrangement did not escape their notice.

"Good," said the Abbess, "now we can begin. Machus, I trust Lady Mina has filled you in on everything that was said between us and Lord Urthfist, and his hares?"

"That she has," Machus nodded.

"Very well." Vanessa gazed down at her paws, folded on the table before her. "I have thought long and hard about what to say here. The simple truth is, what I've heard today changes everything. I don't know how much to believe of what Lord Urthfist has told us, but now I must wonder about Lord Urthblood's motives as well. It is clear to me now that this has become a feud between two Badger Lords, each contesting the other for the throne of Salamandastron. Redwall must not choose sides in such a contest. We dare not.

"Urthblood said his brother's hatred of certain creatures had driven him insane, while Urthfist accuses Urthblood of being an absolutely evil beast who will bring ruin upon us all. To further complicate matters, each badger has many stouthearted and noble followers who support their master's claims. Which one is right? Or could they both be right? Or, as I fear, could it be that each has misjudged the other, and the two sides are now rushing headlong toward an unnecessary war? I have offered the services of Redwall to mediate between the two sides, to help them work toward a peaceful end to this affair. Beyond this I will not go. If these two Lords will not avail themselves of our help, then as Abbess I must declare Redwall neutral in this conflict, and leave it to them to settle this matter as fate dictates. I worry that many fine creatures may needlessly lose their lives, but my first responsibility is to those who dwell within this Abbey. I will not involve Redwall in a power struggle between beasts whose ways are not ours, over a fortress which lies many days distant from Mossflower. Make no mistake, if their fighting does come this far inland, we will defend our way of life however we must. But we will not draw blade or bowstring in support of one side over the other, unless we come to learn far more than we know now."

Vanessa looked earnestly at Mina and Machus. "In keeping with this decision, I feel it would be improper for me to allow forces of either side to remain within Redwall. Therefore - and with some misgivings, for I have come to think of you both as friends - I must nevertheless now ask you and all your troops to leave Redwall."

The two Northlanders shared a brief glance. No word was spoken, but Vanessa got the impression that much was said between them with just their eyes.

Machus looked back at the Abbess. "I am afraid we can't do that."

Vanessa stiffened in her chair. "And may I ask why not?"

"He's right," said Lady Mina. "Lord Urthblood has ordered us to stay here, to help defend this Abbey. We could not disobey, least of all now when there is a potential enemy standing outside your gates."

"I was not aware that Lord Urthblood's authority here at Redwall outweighed my own," Vanessa said. "I understand the reasons for which you were ordered to remain here, and at the time I agreed with them. Now I do not. The truth is, your mere presence is provoking to Urthfist, and I deem that to be causing more trouble than it is solving. For this reason, I must request that you leave us."

Mina's tail twitched behind her, out of sight of most of the Redwallers. "Abbess, I strongly suspect you are only making this request because Urthfist told you to. Do not yield to his madness. This is not the way to test our allegiance to you. Do not make us choose between you and our Lord. That's what Urthfist wants. And it's a victory we can ill-afford to give him."

Vanessa gave a forlorn smile. "I must admit, I don't know whether I would have thought of this on my own if Urthfist hadn't put the bee in my bonnet. But I am not making this request simply because he told me to - please give me more credit than that! As I've said, I've given this matter a great deal of thought, and I did not make my decision lightly. But, as Abbess, the final say must be mine and mine alone. I am not choosing sides in this - far from it, I deem this the best way to ensure Redwall's neutrality. And my primary purpose is not to test our sovereignty, as Urthfist suggested. I can only assume that you will abide by my decision, whether you agree with it or not." She looked hard at Mina and Machus. "Am I wrong in this assumption?"

Machus shifted in his chair, looking distinctly unsettled. "Abbess, perhaps you don't fully appreciate our position. In all the seasons I have served with Lord Urthblood, never once have I broken or disobeyed a command from him. His orders were for me to remain at Redwall, to assist in your defence should you come under siege or assault. I would not easily defy that order."

"Do you believe he intended for you to stay, even if I should decide otherwise?"

"I believe he would not have me abandon my post when the very reason for my being here is standing just beyond your gates," Machus countered. "Which brings me to another concern. Urthfist has sworn to slay everybeast here under my command. My foxes may be the best swordsbeasts in all the lands, but against eighty hares of the Long Patrol and their Badger Lord we would have no chance whatsoever. We would be slaughtered, to the last fox, rat, weasel and shrew of us. Would you see that happen, Abbess?"

"Lord Urthfist swore he would harm nobeast among you if you all agreed to leave Redwall voluntarily."

"I was there when he made that promise," said Mina. "The red tinge of rage was in his eyes when he spoke those words. The truth is, he has been perilously close to yielding to the full Bloodwrath ever since his arrival. Can we be sure he can control himself? What if he decides, once we are outside the protection of these walls, not to abide by that promise? Or if the sight of us causes him to go into a killing rage, in which all reason abandons him? In such a case, we would all be slain. I do not trust that badger to remain rational, even if he earnestly meant that promise when he made it."

"I believe he will honor his pledge," Vanessa said. "He is a Badger Lord, after all."

"One who sees us as mortal enemies," Machus reminded her. "If you are wrong, we are the ones who will pay for that misjudgement with our lives. I am no coward, Abbess, and I will not shy away from any fair-sided battle. But I am responsible for nearly fifty soldiers here. I will not risk exposing them to almost certain death if I don't have to."

"I would not ask any creature to risk its life unnecessarily," Vanessa assured the two Northlanders. "If a way cannot be found by which you may leave this Abbey in absolute safety, then I will not insist that you do so. But I believe it can be done."

"How?" demanded Mina.

"I don't know just now," the Abbess admitted. "But we'll do what Redwallers have always done when faced with a dilemma: we'll put our heads together, and come up with a solution that will work."

"Are you ordering us to leave Redwall," Mina probed, "or just asking us to?"

Vanessa forced her face and voice to remain pleasant. "At this point, consider it a request. If you refuse to honor it, I will make it more than a request. And I will seriously have to wonder where this puts our newfound friendship. Make no mistake, I do consider you friends, and many of us have grown very fond of you. And of course we owe you, Machus, a great debt for saving Cyrus. But under these circumstances, though we hope to remain friends with you, we cannot be allies. Any help we can give that will speed you on your way, we will gladly give. I hope someday, when these two Lords are no longer threatening war with each other, we will be able to invite you back into our home, to enjoy our hospitality once more. But for now, it cannot be."

"As you say, Abbess," the Gawtrybe Lady said rather coolly.

"I need some time," Machus told Vanessa. "To examine your request, and speak with my troops. If a way can be found for us to leave Redwall in safety, that would make it easier for me to consider your ... request. But I must say, I cannot think of any."

"I have a few ideas on that score," Alexander volunteered. "But I'd like to kick them around in my head a bit before I voice them."

"I'll be eager to hear them," Vanessa told her longtime squirrel friend.

Machus said, "Abbess, there is another matter we must resolve between us before my troops and I can leave Redwall. A small matter, at least compared to the issues we've been discussing so far, although you might not consider it so trivial."

Vanessa nodded. "Yes, I know. Smallert."

"If I am to vacate Redwall shortly, I will not be bringing that weasel with me. He will have to remain at Redwall ...one way or the other. If you no longer wish to extend your protection to him, and are not willing to take him as a permanent member of your community, you must let me know soon so that I can arrange for his punishment to be properly carried out."

"Of course," Vanessa nodded. "Personally, I am inclined to show clemency to that beast, even at the cost of having him dwell here among us henceforth. However, my feelings alone cannot determine whether Smallert is to become a Redwaller. Abbess I may be, but I cannot have anybeast living here whose presence is frightening or unsettling to others of our family. There is a young mouse up in our Infirmary whose views on this are at least as important as mine. Before anything else, we must speak to him. Then, I will be able to make my decision as to whether Smallert stays or goes. Or, should I say, whether he lives or dies."

00000000000

Sister Aurelia had just finished lighting the lamps in the Infirmary against the approaching dusk. Enough summer evening light still came through the windows to keep the lanterns' illumination from fully taking hold.

Cyrus sat propped up in his bed, his empty dinner plate balanced upon his lap. For the first time, Machus had allowed his young patient to eat more than soup, oatmeal and custard. The moles had whipped up another of their tater 'n' turnip 'n' beetroot deeper 'n' ever pies, while a few of the otters took time off their guard duty to help Frair Hugh prepare the biggest shrimp and leek pie that Redwall had ever seen. The Friar took special care to make sure the otters didn't make their creation too spicy, out of deference to Cyrus. The young mouse had helped himself to a double helping of each dish, as well as a generous portion of cinnamon apple crumble for dessert.

"My word," Sister Aurelia remarked as she took away the dirty plate, "you're eating like a hare! You'll get fat, making food disappear like that!"

"What did you expect, Sister? You've been making me eat boring stuff ever since I woke up. I was beginning to think I'd never see real food again."

"Well, I hope you didn't overdo it," she said, taking Cyril's dinner dish as well. "Machus will be up later to check on you, I'm sure. The way you put all of that away, I shouldn't wonder if you've put a strain on your stitches."

"Aw, my insides are fine, Sister 'reelia. But if you're worried, you can let me walk outside and go up on the walltop to see the hares. That'd burn up some of my dinner. I'd be very careful, I promise."

"Now, you've had your walk around the Infirmary this afternoon, and that's enough for one day. I don't want you overdoing things. You've progressed better than anybeast expected, but you've still got to take it easy, and let nature do its healing work. Those hares look to be here for some days to come, so you'll get an eyeful of them eventually, don't you worry about that." Aurelia set the dishes over on a tray to be taken back down to the kitchens. Crossing back to where Cyril and Cyrus sat, she asked, "Now, Cyrus, are you sure you're up to this?"

The mouse brothers looked at each other. Cyril nodded encouragement to his younger sibling. Cyrus looked back at Sister Aurelia. "Uh huh."

"Very well. I'll go tell the Abbess to bring him in." The healer mouse briskly padded over to the Infirmary door and stuck her head out into the corridor. They could hear the muffled sound of her voice as she spoke with somebeast out there.

Cyril leaned close to Cyrus, taking his brother's paw reassuringly. "Don't be nervous, Cy. Smallert's not a bad weasel. He's really sorry about what he did. You'll see."

Cyrus had not seen his weasel attacker since he'd woken up following his surgery. The Abbess and the others had worried what effect such a meeting might have on the young mouse, and didn't want to take any chances. But now there was no choice. If Smallert was to stay at Redwall, Cyrus must be comfortable with the idea of sharing his home with the creatures who'd injured him. Otherwise, Vanessa would have no choice but to withdraw her offer of sanctuary to Smallert and turn him over to Machus to be executed as the swordfox had planned.

"He needs our help," Cyril went on. "We've got to help him. You've got to, Cy."

Cyrus nodded. Cyril had been over this with him before. "Would Mr. Machus really have him killed? I thought Machus was a good fox?"

"He is," said Cyril. "He saved your life. But Smallert killed a rat also, and that calls for him to be executed. Machus has got to follow Lord Urthblood's rules. The only way to save Smallert is for the Abbess to give him the protection of Redwall."

"So he'd be stayin' here from now on?" Cyrus asked.

"Right. Machus'll kick him outta the army, I guess, and then the Abbess will declare him a Redwaller. But she won't do it if she thinks you're gonna be afraid of having him around all the time. So you've got to act friendly toward Smallert when he comes in. If you don't behave just right with him, she isn't gonna save him."

"I understand," said Cyrus. "I'm not nervous, Cyr. If you say he's a goodbeast, I won't be afraid."

"Good. Just keep that in mind. And remember, I'll be right here, and so will the Abbess and Sister Aurelia. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Okay."

Sister Aurelia returned. Smallert followed close behind, flanked on either side by Vanessa and Brother Geoff. Two armed swordfoxes brought up the rear, although they stopped just inside the doorway, giving the Redwallers space to be alone with the weasel.

Smallert's paws had been unbound. He'd seemed so remorseful over what he'd done that Vanessa was trusting him to behave with the two young mouse brothers.

Sister Aurelia came around to the far side of the bed, while Vanessa stopped at the foot of it. "Cyrus, this is Smallert. He has something to say to you."

Cyrus looked up at the weasel, and found he wasn't the least bit nervous or afraid of Smallert. "Hello."

"Uh, hello, there." Smallert glanced down, self-consciously shuffling his footpaws. For this first meeting, Vanessa had arranged for Smallert to trade in his rumpled and dirty soldier's clothing for a smart tunic donated by the otters, who were the Redwallers whose size most closely matched the weasel's. Smallert had also bathed and slicked down his fur as neatly as he could, wanting to make a good impression. He was more nervous now than Cyrus was, that was plain to everybeast in the room.

"How're you feelin', son?" he went on, after several awkward moments.

"I'm okay." Cyrus thought a moment, then added. "How're you?"

"Oh, I got no cause fer complainin'. I'm just really glad ye're better. I'm really sorry 'bout what happened. I didn't mean t' do it, honest I didn't."

"I know."

"Um ... "

"Do you wanna sit down?"

"Huh?"

"You don't hafta stand, Mr. Weasel, sir." Cyrus waved a paw, inviting Smallert to have a seat next to Cyril on the adjacent bed. "You'll be more comfortable if you sit down."

"Oh ... why, thank you, laddie. That's very consid'rate of you. Ye're a proper polite li'l gennelbeast." Cyril obligingly scooted over on the mattress, making room for Smallert to sit across from Cyrus.

Vanessa and Geoff traded glances. Now, why hadn't they thought of that? Of course Smallert would seem less threatening to the mousechild if he were sitting down. Not only had Cyrus had to come up with the idea himself, but he seemed to have suggested it more for the weasel's benefit than for his own!

Cyrus regarded Smallert without a trace of fear. "So, are you gonna stay here at Redwall with us?"

"Oh, I'd like that, son. I'd like that very much. But, uh, would that be okay with you? 'Cos if it ain't, then I don't hafta."

"I guess I wouldn't mind," Cyrus replied. "Everybeast here says you're okay, and they know you better than I do."

"You ain't angry at me fer cuttin' you like I did?"

"It wasn't a very nice thing to do, Mr. Smallert, sir."

Smallert's gaze dropped down to his lap. "I know. It was a very bad thing, an' I wish it'd never happened. D'you think you could forgive a poor, stupid weasel fer makin' such a mistake?"

"I guess so. Truthfully, it all happened so fast, I don't really remember very much." Cyrus paused. "Why did you do it, anyway?"

"Oh, I never meant to hurt you, lad. It was that no good rat Wolfrum I were chasin'. He grabbed you an' put you in front o' my sword. By th' time I realized what he'd done - an what I'd done - it was too late."

"Sounds like it happened really fast for you too," said Cyrus. "Would you have killed Wolfrum if I hadn't been there?"

"Yeah, I reckon I would've."

"So, in a way, I guess I saved his life."

Again, Vanessa and Geoff exchanged looks. This time Smallert joined in, throwing an uncertain glance their way. What would they tell Cyrus if he asked to meet Wolfrum, or inquired where the rat was now?

Thankfully, Cyrus didn't. "Why were you trying to kill him?"

Smallert wiped his paws on his thighs, clearly uncomfortable at being made to face his crimes. "Well, we'd been fightin' - wrasslin', as part of our drillin', Machus had ordered it - an' Wolfrum, he bit me. Now, that's 'gainst Lord Urthblood's rules, an' it stung like th' dickens, so that got me purty mad. I chased after him, but next thing I knows, he grabs up a sword and lops off me ear." Smallert ran a paw over the wound, now neatly bandaged. "Well, that's two serious violations, bitin' an' usin' a blade 'gainst a comade-in-arms, but I weren't thinkin' like that. When I saw me ear in my paw, I jus' went after him, thinkin' to take one or two o' his parts fer my own. I got the sword from him an' started swingin', an' that's when I slew pore ol' Speeg. 'Twas later said that Wolfrum pushed Speeg in harm's way, but I couldn't say fer sure. Wolfrum ran, I chased 'im ... an' the next thing I remember, I had a bloody sword in my paw, an' he was holdin' you up in front of him, yer robe all slashed open where I cut you." Smallert's voice cracked, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. "'Twas like a nightmare, standin' there lookin' at what I done. I never harmed any goodbeast before. I felt like a claw was squeezin' 'round my heart. An' I knew that if I'd slain you, I wouldn't wanna live myself."

Cyrus slipped his paw out of Cyril's, and leaned across to pat the distraught weasel on the knee. "It's all right, Smallert, sir. Sister Aurelia says I'm gonna be all well soon. I'd be up and around already, but she won't let me yet. But I feel fine."

Vanessa felt she'd seen enough. She stepped around to Smallert's side of the bed. "Okay, Smallert, we don't want to tire young Cyrus out. Come along, and we'll leave him to get some rest."

The weasel started to rise, but Cyrus looked imploringly at Vanessa. "Mother Abbess?"

"Yes, Cyrus?"

"Couldn't Mr. Smallert please stay for awhile longer? I'm not all that tired after that big dinner I had, and I'd really like to talk to him s'more."

"Well, I don't know ... " But there was no denying the pleading look in the mousechild's wide eyes. "Oh, okay. But only for a short while more. Sister Aurelia will stay with you if you need anything. When you're finished talking, those two foxes by the door will escort Smallert back to his chamber."

"Thank you, Abbess."

Vanessa and Geoff withdrew to the hall beyond. Smallert looked to Cyrus with a mix of hope and trepidation. "So, er, what else didja wanna talk about?"

"Tell me about what you were like when you were my age," Cyrus requested of the weasel.

Smallert's whole expression seemed to furrow, if such a thing were possible. "Oh, no, Cyrus lad, you don't wanna hear nothin' 'bout that. We vermin have miserable 'n' unhappy childhoods, like nobeast oughtta. That's why so many of us grow up t' be bad sorts."

Cyrus persisted. "Oh, you must've had some good times when you were little. Things you enjoyed doing, or a special friend you may've had, even if it was only for a day or two. Your favorite foods, your favorite time of year ... "

A look of concentration crossed Smallert's face as he sorted through memories of his early life. Slowly, a wistful smile came to his lips.

"Yeah, there was some fun," he murmured. "Precious little, but I s'pose that made it all th' more precious, huh? Why, I remembers this one autumn day, when the air was crisp and woodsmoke an' cookin' pies was in th' breeze ... couldn'ta been more'n three or four seasons old, 'twas the first autumn I remember an' all the colors of the Northlands forest were about me ... "

Cyril smiled too, as Smallert settled into his reminiscences like a lost and weary wanderer finding his way home at last, and the older mouse brother knew everything was going to be all right, as least as far as Cyrus and Smallert were concerned.

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Out in the hall, Vanessa and Geoff were met by Arlyn, Maura, Alexander and Lady Mina. All were eager to hear how it had gone.

"Smallert just did his case a whole deal of good," Vanessa announced. "Cyrus wasn't fearful of him at all, and even asked him to stay after I suggested he leave."

Geoff nodded. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Cyrus has actually taken a shine to that weasel. I don't think he would have any problem with Smallert staying at Redwall."

"Now," said Arlyn, "the question is, do any of us have a problem with that?"

"I am somewhat worried by the prospect of having a weasel living among us," Maura said. "Smallert nearly killed Cyrus, even if it was only an accident. What if he does something like that again, after Machus is gone and nobeast here has the skills to save the poor lad or lass this time?"

"That's a very good point," Geoff agreed. "A creature who's proven he's capable of committing an evil act once may very well do so again."

"That is one way to look at it," Vanessa said. "But here is another: Smallert is genuinely remorseful over this, and never intended any harm to Cyrus. It was Wolfrum who put Cyrus in the path of that sword. Is there any Redwaller who would perform such a dispicable act? We know there isn't. And so the chances of Smallert committing any such misdeed again in the future are, in my judgement, very slim.

"As I see it, the question we must ask is, does Smallert deserve death? Because make no mistake, death is precisely what awaits him if we withhold from him the protection of this Abbey. The very child that Smallert put so close to death has now forgiven him, and so has that child's brother and only blood relative at Redwall. I feel it would be most upsetting to both Cyril and Cyrus if we allow Machus to have Smallert executed, and that might affect Cyrus's recovery. We can't risk that. And if those two brothers can forgive Smallert, surely we can too."

"You sound as if you've already made up your mind to offer Smallert sanctuary," Geoff observed.

"At this point, I am planning on doing just that," said Vanessa. "I will have a talk with our two young bellringers after Smallert is returned to his cell, just to make sure they harbor no reservations about him. The way things are looking now, I don't expect a problem. Once I'm satisfied this is the case, I will inform Smallert in the morning that he will be welcome to stay with us, and no harm will be allowed to come to him."

Mina spoke. "Abbess, I think you're making a mistake. That beast doesn't deserve a second chance, least of all among the creatures he so egregiously harmed."

Vanessa gave the squirrel Lady a sharp glance. "It is my mistake to make, Mina. But you of all creatures should not begrudge our pardon of Smallert."

"Why do you say that, Abbess?" Mina asked, mystified.

"Just today I was told of an entire tribe of pygmy shrews that Lord Urthblood once slaughtered. And you urged us to overlook that 'mistake' and concentrate upon the good that Urthblood has done."

Mina was flustered. "You cannot compare the two!"

"You're right - Urthblood's actions were far the more reprehensible of the two. But how are we to even consider putting aside his killing of the shrews if we are not even able to forgive Smallert? You should practice what you preach, Lady. If Urthblood's transgressions can be overlooked, so can a lesser beast's, who should not be held to the same standards as a Badger Lord anyway. Or would you disagree?"

Mina hunched her shoulders, fur ruffled. "Your viewpoint is valid. For Redwallers. I simply would not share it. But I am not the one who will have to live with Smallert henceforth, so I will say no more on the matter."

"Nor will I," seconded Maura. "My Abbess has spoken, and I will abide by her decision. But, Vanessa, I am going to be keeping a very close eye on that weasel, until I am satisfied for myself that he's no danger to our young ones. If he puts one paw out of line, I'll be there to catch it."

"I wouldn't expect you to do otherwise, Maura. And you won't be the only one watching him. Smallert will have to go through a probation period, to show that he is fit to become a full-fledged Redwaller. I'll make sure he understands this when I speak with him tomorrow. But after what he's been through, I have a feeling he won't disappoint us."

"I hope not, Nessa," said Geoff.

She looked to Alexander. "Now, Alex, you mentioned at the council earlier that you had some ideas on how Mina, Machus and the others might be able to leave Redwall in guaranteed safety?"

The squirrel nodded. "There are still some details to hammer out, but I've hit upon a plan I think would work. The big hitch is, it'll require Lord Urthfist's cooperation as well. But if he really wants Urthblood's troops out of Redwall that badly, and is serious about his pledge not to harm them if they leave voluntarily, then he should agree to it. We'll want to run this by Machus too, of course, but since you're right here, Lady Mina, let me bounce it off you. Tell me what you think of this ... "

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Alexander's idea was discussed with Machus later that evening. The swordfox agreed with Lady Mina that it was a sound plan ... provided Urthfist cooperated. If so, the Northlanders could depart Redwall come morning.

Vanessa went with Alexander and Maura to meet with Urthfist outside the north wallgate. The hour by this time was quite late, but the Badger Lord and his hares were on a war footing, and did not seem the least bit drowsy or unalert when they answered the Redwaller's hail. Urthfist, Traveller and Major Safford heard the Abbess out, then the badger gave his consent.

"I have sworn not to trouble them if they leave Redwall," Urthfist rumbled, "and I am a beast of my word. In my heart I would prefer to see them dead, but that may come soon enough, if they are let free to wander the lands where our paths may someday cross again, far from Redwall. For now, I will be satisfied just to see this Abbey cleared of my brother's vermin. I agree to your conditions, Abbess. But, are you sure you can expect no treachery from these villains? I would not trust them to honor their word."

"You and your hares will be right outside our walls, Lord. If they were to cause us any trouble, we'd simply open the gates and invite you in to lend a paw."

Urthfist nodded. That sounded fine to him.


	24. Chapter 50

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty

The following morning, amid the early bustle of getting the Northlanders ready for their departure, Vanessa summoned Smallert from his cell.

Two fox guards, already partly outfitted for their march, bore the weasel before them to the north of the Abbey grounds. Smallert's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Lady Mina, Machus, and every other soldier under their command assembled just inside the north wallgate, along with most of the Abbey leaders and every squirrel of Alexander's Mossflower Patrol.

Machus stepped up to Smallert, looking the weasel over top to bottom. "Consider this the luckiest day of your life," the swordfox chief said. "We are leaving Redwall, but you will not be coming with us. The Abbess has graciously decided to grant you the sanctuary of this Abbey. The punishment you warrent under Lord Urthblood's laws will not be dispensed to you, due to these goodbeasts' good graces, and against my best advice. You've been given a second chance at life. Use it well, and do not give these folk cause to regret their choice." Machus paused, a look of disappointment on his face. "I hereby formally discharge you from the service of Lord Urthblood, in my capacity as commander-in-chief of these forces, and in the site of Lady Mina as witness. You have behaved dishonorably, and have lost the privilege of serving alongside real and true warriors. Redwall has forgiven you your disgrace; I shall not. You will dwell here for the rest of your seasons, where the mercy of Redwall protects you. Let no soldier of Urthblood's ever find you outside these walls, or your life may once more be forfeit. Do you understand?"

Smallert nodded, a score of different emotions playing across his face. Machus had given him no cause to feel good about himself ... but the Redwallers had, and he was going to live!

Machus pointedly turned his back on Smallert and strode away to join the rest of the Northlanders. The two foxes guarding the weasel made a show of wordlessly leaving Smallert's side and following after their captain. It was the first time since he'd wounded Cyrus that he'd stood unguarded outside his cell - a symbolic demonstration that he was now the Redwallers' responsibility.

Vanessa walked over to him. "Welcome to our family, Smallert. As long as you obey our simple rules, do your share of chores and do harm to nobeast here, you are free to live among us for as long as you wish. The protection of Redwall now extends to you. Prove that you are worthy of it, and we will be glad to have you as a member of our community, now and henceforth."

Smallert burst into tears of joy. Much to Vanessa's chagrin, he dropped to his knees and started kissing her footpaws where they stuck out from under the hem of her habit. Geoff and a few of the others had to stifle smiles and chuckles.

"Smallert, PLEASE! Stop that!"

He stood instantly, head bowed in submission.

"I will not have anybeast grovelling to me," she said, trying not to be too sharp with him. "We're all equal here, even if I am the Abbess. Please don't do that again, ever."

"Yes, ma'am."

A low bench had been set out on the lawns nearby. Sister Aurelia had allowed Cyrus to make his first trip outside the Infirmary, so that he could bid farewell to the beast who'd saved his life. Smallert went over to where Cyrus sat between Cyril and Aurelia, and lowered himself to one knee before them. "Thank you, son," he said, choked with emotion. "I know yer Abbess wouldn't've shown mercy on a wretch like me if you 'adn't made her think it were okay."

Cyrus smiled at the weasel. "You don't hafta thank me, Mr. Smallert, sir. You're a goodbeast. It's only what you deserve. If you were a real stinker of a nastybeast, the Abbess wouldn't let you stay, no matter what I told her."

Vanessa had come over alongside Smallert. "Yes, that's probably true," she admitted, "but your vote of confidence in Smallert did carry a lot of weight, Cyrus. Without it, I might not have decided as I did. Yours also, Cyril. You were the first among us to sense that this weasel had a good heart."

Smallert glanced back and forth between the three mice. "Then I guess I owes all o' you my very miserable life. There's no way I c'n ever repay yer kindness, 'cept to swear I'll be th' best goodbeast that I can. You won't regret it, you'll see. My days of fightin' are through! From now on, I'm a Redwaller! An' if any weasel can be a gennelbeast, then I'll be th' one!"

"That's very admirable, Smallert," Vanessa told him. "And you'll have every chance to show your new colors," she glanced at Cyril and Cyrus, "and some good friends to help you along."

Cyrus looked up at her. "Mother Abbess, I'd like to say goodbye to Mr. Machus, please."

"Of course. You sit right there, and I'll go get him."

Vanessa returned a moment later with the fox. All the Northlanders were geared up for their march, standing ready to be underway as soon as Machus gave the word. Smallert was looking over toward his former comrades in arms, but every one of them averted their eyes from his gaze, refusing to acknowledge him. He was no longer one of them, and none wanted to risk sharing in his dishonor.

Machus gave the weasel the momentary ghost of a scowl as he approached with the Abbess, then turned all his attention to his young patient. Smallert stepped aside so Machus could squat down before Cyrus.

"It's good to see you up and around," he said to the young mouse. "I'm glad I got to see you get well enough to leave the Infirmary before I had to depart."

"I wish you didn't hafta go," said Cyrus. "Is that mean badger who came here yesterday making you leave?"

"Your Abbess decided it would be best for everybeast of we left Redwall," Machus explained. "Things have gotten ... complicated. There might be trouble with Urthfist and his hares if we stayed, and we don't want that. The Abbess makes good sense. We must abide by her decision, you and me both."

"Is there going to be war?" Cyril asked solemnly.

Machus looked to the older mouse brother. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I hope not. But if there is, I must be at Lord Urthblood's side. My sword belongs there."

"Then ... be careful, sir," Cyril implored. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Me neither," Cyrus added.

Machus smiled at the two of them. "My foxes and I know how to handle our blades, and we've seen many battles before. I plan on being around for many seasons to come, if I have anything to say about it."

"I hope so." Cyrus leaned forward and wrapped his paws around Machus, burying his face in the ruff of the fox's neck fur. "Goodbye, Machus. And thank you for saving my life."

"You're very welcome, Cyrus," Machus said, somewhat embarrassed as he returned the youngster's hug. When Cyrus finally pulled away, Machus stuck out his paw to Cyril. "And goodbye to you too, my young warrior."

Cyril blushed a bit as he and the fox shook paws. "Thank you, sir, but I'm no warrior. I thought maybe that's what I wanted to be, but now I see it's more important that I just stay here and be a Redwaller, and help look after all my friends, and my brother. Maybe ... maybe someday you can come back and teach me how to be a healer. I think I'd be better at that than being a warrior anyway."

"Well, maybe I can," Machus smiled. "You're young yet, so you've got plenty of time to decide upon your calling. We can talk about this more when next we meet."

"I ... I'll look forward to that, sir. Goodbye, and take care."

Machus stood. "And to you, good Sister Aurelia. Everybeast here seems to credit me alone with saving Cyrus, but I don't think I could have done it without you and the Abbess. It was good working with you, even though I'm sure we both would rather it had not been necessary in the first place. The good creatures of Redwall and Mossflower are fortunate indeed to have a healer of your skill at their service. If Cyril does decide to follow that vocation, he will not want for a good teacher."

Sister Aurelia got to her feet and took his paw in both of hers. "Never did I imagine that I would be calling a fox a friend, but you have proven yourself as one. There is no way we will ever be able to repay you for saving Cyrus, but take these words to heart and carry them with you wherever your path takes you: I am glad to have known you, Machus."

He bowed his head humbly. "Those words mean more to me than any gift, Sister. I will treasure them."

Maura stepped around from behind the bench where she'd been standing and took her turn shaking paws with Machus. The badger said to him, "I never did get a chance to thank you at all, I've been so busy looking after the other children. When you first came to our home, I'll admit I distrusted you most of all the creatures in Lord Urthblood's army. My opinion of foxes was not one I would repeat in front of these young ears. But you have proven me wrong, and I am glad to say it. I see now that any creature, even a fox, can be a decent and honorable beast if it tries. For this lesson, I thank you."

"It was a lesson I was happy to give," he replied, "although Lord Urthblood probably deserves a greater share of the credit than I do. I would never have had the chance to become an honest creature were it not for him. He dreams of a time when all beasts may live together in peace. If my stay here has helped move the lands toward that day, then I would not trade it for anything."

They parted, and Machus stepped back to stand before all the Redwallers gathered on and around the bench. "I shall never forget the hospitality you all have shown me. I wish that I could stay - for more than one reason - but the paths of destiny are not always for us to choose. I must now depart. But it is my hope that I shall return to Redwall someday to further the friendship that has been started here."

He looked to Vanessa. "We are ready, Abbess."

"Very good. Alexander, you know what to do."

The squirrel chief nodded to her and gave a quick gesture of command to his comrades. Two burly otter guards unlocked and threw open the north wallgate. Like a flowing sea of red fur, the twoscore squirrels of the Mossflower Patrol streamed through the passage and raced toward the nearest trees, Alex and Mina in the lead. When the last squirrel was through, the otters slammed the gate closed again and rammed the lockbolt home.

Vanessa said to Machus, "It will take Alex and Mina a few minutes to get them all in position. You and your troops stand by. I'm going up to the south wall to make sure Urthfist is keeping his side of the bargain."

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"My, they certainly are an impressive sight," Vanessa remarked.

"Yes," Aryln agreed, "they certainly are."

Redwall's retired Abbot was keeping station upon the south battlements, doing his part to help with the evacuation of Urthblood's forces from the Abbey. Vanessa had joined her mentor up on the walltop to see for herself how this part of the plan was going.

Morning sun shown brightly upon the grassy meadow below ... and upon the badger warrior and his fourscore hares who stood arranged in neat rank and file. The widely-spaced columns formed by the Long Patrol were Alexander's idea, and the condition to which Urthfist had agreed for this endeavor. Machus would not have considered withdrawing his forces from Redwall if Urthfist threatened the Northlanders in any way, so this was the compromise that had been reached. While Urthfist and his hares would stand some distance from the south wall, out in the open where they could easily be counted and kept under watch, Machus would exit through the north wallgate with his band, and head northward as quickly as he could to distance himself from the hostile Badger Lord. As an added precaution, Alexander and the Forest Patrol would cover their retreat from above, for a day's march or as long as they felt their protection was necessary. If Urthfist were to break his word and pursue his brother's soldiers, he would meet a hail of arrows from the treetops long before he ever got to cross swords with any of the Northlanders.

"I didn't think they'd be able to get themselves assembled in formation so quickly," Vanessa commented.

"They're professionals," Arlyn said. "Very disciplined. You won't find fighters like those anywhere else ... perhaps not even in Lord Urthblood's army."

"Well, it looks like I can go right back down and give Machus the okay to depart. Alex should have had enough time to get his squirrels in position for their march."

"Better wait to see what Highwing has to report," the old Abbot suggested. "Don't want to take any chances."

"Yes, you're right, of course." Vanessa looked down toward the shimmering meadow. The Sparra leader was hopping and fluttering in between the columns of the Long Patrol hares. Even as she watched, he seemed satisfied with his observations and took to the wing. Moments later he swooped onto the ramparts alongside the two mice.

"Hallo, Abbess! Abbot!" he greeted them. "You'll be happy to know there are exactly fourscore and one hares down there, to the head. No decoys or sleight-of-paw, I checked most carefully. His whole gang's lined up there, all present and accounted for."

"And none will be able to slip away without us seeing it," said Arlyn.

"Good work, Highwing," Vanessa said, ruffling her old birdfriend's neck feathers. "Many thanks for your help."

"Always happy to lend a wing. Would you like us Sparra to do some flyovers to let them know they're being closely watched?"

"I'm sure Lord Urthfist is only too aware of our scrutiny. But, an extra pair of eyes never hurt any lookout watch. By all means, if you'd like to help us keep an eye on them, we'd welcome that."

"I'll see what I can arrange." Highwing bobbed his head and fluttered off to Warbeak Loft to consult with his fellow sparrows.

Arlyn turned to Vanessa. "We've got things well in paw up here. You may as well go tell Machus he can be off. He ought to get the best start he can. That badger and his hares aren't going to be content to stand out there in the sun all morning!"

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Vanessa and Montybank went out the north gate with Machus. The Abbess felt confident enough after what she'd seen from the walltop. Urthfist was keeping to his word, staying to the south meadow while his brother's creatures made their hasty departure from the opposite side of the Abbey. Even if some of the fastest hares were to break ranks now in an attempt to rush the Northlanders and catch them by surprise, they could still not outrun the warning cry that would be relayed around the walltop by the Redwall lookouts. There would be ample time to get Machus and his comrades back inside and bolt the door before trouble reached them.

The fighters of Urthblood were all assembled and ready to march, except for Lady Mina, who'd taken to the treetops along with Alex and the Forest Patrol. The rest stood attentively as Machus approached. They were gathered almost upon the very spot where Urthfist had met with Hanchett the day before. Now, even though they had all of Redwall between themselves and their badger adversary, the northerners were edgy and nervous about being outside the safety of the Abbey walls with a sworn mortal enemy so close at paw. Clearly, they were anxious to be underway, and with all speed.

Machus came to a halt a few paces from his troops. He turned to the two Redwallers and extended his paw to the otter Skipper. "It has been a privilege serving alongside you and your crew, Montybank. The otters here in Mossflower are every bit the measure of their brethren in the north. Until we meet again ... "

"An' when we do," Monty replied, taking the fox's paw and shaking it heartily, "I hope it's in happier times than these. Good fortune to ye in any scrapes 'n' tussles that may lie ahead fer you."

"I too will pray that fortune smiles upon you," said Vanessa, taking his paw from Monty. "You are welcome to return to Redwall whenever circumstances will allow, and stay for as long as you like. It is only the awkwardness and uncertainty of the present situation that made me ask you to leave. I hope you will harbor no ill will toward me or any of us for this decision. I really don't feel I had any other choice, if Redwall was to remain truly impartial in this matter."

"I understand completely," Machus assured Vanessa in his most diplomatic manner. "I still can't say that I totally agree with it, but you are the Abbess, and the standing of Redwall must always be your main responsibility. I can certainly appreciate that, and will not begrudge you for doing what your conscience demands. I would not have us part now as anything but friends. After the kindness and hospitality you've shown me, never could I carry ill feeling toward Redwall in my heart." Caressing her paw softly, he bowed low to her, then slipped free of her hold and stood back. "Farewell, my newfound friends. If Redwall should ever need an ally in times of trouble, I will be here to stand beside you if I may. Part of my heart will dwell here always, and you may consider me a true defender of this Abbey. But now we must be off, and with all haste, if I don't want to tempt fate into making this day my last."

"Where will you go?" Vanessa asked.

"A day north, to distance ourselves from the badger who would slay us, and thence to Salamandastron by the most direct route. That is my place now, by Lord Urthblood's side."

"Have you ever been t' Salamandastron before?" Monty inquired. "D'you know th' way?"

Machus shrugged. "A lone mountain upon the beach ... how hard can that be to find?" The fox stepped back a pace, drew his sword, and raised it in salute to the two Redwallers. "Hail, and farewell!"

Monty withdrew the sword of Martin, which had seldom left his side since the day of Urthblood's arrival at Redwall, and returned the salute with one of his own. The two blades, near mirror images of each other, shone in the morning sun. They almost seemed to be acknowledging one another in some unspoken language shared only by the most noble of weapons, and spoken by no living beast. "Fare ye well, Machus. And fate be kind to ye!"

"Yes," said Vanessa, "and may the spirit of Martin watch over you as it would watch over any Redwaller."

"Truly, that is quite a blessing. I don't know if I am fully deserving of it, but I will accept it gladly. Farewell." Machus slid his sword into its sheath and spun in one fluid motion. Moments later, he and his troops had disappeared into the sun-dappled depths of Mossflower. Vanessa and Montybank withdrew into the Abbey, and the gate slammed shut behind them.

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"How bally long are we gonna hafta wait out here?"

Urthfist, standing at the fore of the ranks with his back to the Long Patrol, recognized the complainer by her voice. "As long as it takes, Springer," he replied without glancing back or taking his eyes off Redwall. "We will hold formation here until we're invited to do otherwise."

"Don't be too hard on Springsy, M'Lord," Major Safford hastened to defend the female fighter. "She's just speakin' aloud wot we're all thinkin'. Seems t' me they've had more'n enough time t' get the Abbey cleared o' that rabble."

"We'll stand here all day if that's what it takes to get all of my brother's forces out of Redwall," Urthfist said. "I gave my agreement to the Abbess personally, and I will honor it. She wants us where she can see us, while our enemies depart. I am sure she won't keep us waiting any longer than she feels is necessary."

Safford winced at the sun. "Wouldn't be so bad if 'tweren't fer the blinkin' heat."

"You've marched and patrolled in worse than this," Urthfist chided him. "I know you have."

"True, sir. But there's rather a difference b'tween movin' about doin' something useful an' just standin' out in the bally blaze of summer ... 'specially when there's enemies within easy wallopin' range. I'll take runnin' an' fightin' over this any day. We hares weren't made fer bein' on open display."

"I'd prefer cracking heads myself," Urthfist agreed. "I'd prefer to have slain those creatures of my brother's instead of allowing them to escape to cause untold trouble in times to come. But this was the only way the Abbess would consent to remove them from Redwall. It is victory enough that we are accomplishing that much. It is also good that we show a civil face to the Redwallers in this affair. After all the lies that my brother has told them about me, I must show them that I am not some unreasoning, dangerous monster as he would have them believe. If they see this, they may be more willing to listen to what I must tell them. So here we will stand, until we are given further word from the Abbess. We came to Mossflower to clear Redwall of our enemies. This is now being done, if not in the manner we'd intended. Once I have gone through the Abbey and seen for myself that it is clean, we will be free to pursue those vile villains to their destruction. So do not fret, Major. Our foe have escaped their just punishment this day, but our paths are sure to cross again, perhaps this very season. And when that happens, I assure you that we will be doing far more than just standing in review formation!"

In the distance, the south wallgate of the Abbey popped open and five otters trooped out, each carrying a large bulging pouch. The gate was shut behind them as they strode across the meadow toward the force from Salamandastron. Urthfist had positioned his hares far enough from the south wall so that they would not be within easy arrow range from the walltop, and could see anybeast coming around the side of the Abbey. It took a good minute for the otters to cover the distance.

"Ahoy, there!" Montybank hailed as he approached Urthfist and the hares. "Abbess said to tell you she'd be awhile longer. But not t' worry - she hasn't fergot about you. As a token of our hospitality, an' since it's hot 'nuff to wither shrimp out 'ere, we thought you'd like something cool t' wet yer whistles with. 'Fraid it's just water fer now, but there'll be plenty of October ale 'n' lots more once you march your flopeared selves inside. Now, who's up fer a swig? Plenty fer all, so don't all rush up at once ... "

Urthfist raised a commanding paw, and no hare stepped out of their neat lines. "Do not accept any of that drink," he bellowed.

The otters froze, and Monty's face fell. "Well, that's hardly gracious, Y'honor. Just bein' friendly. No harm intended."

"You have had foxes among you," Urthfist said, "and foxes are notoriously skilled poisoners. Your water may be tainted, even though you yourselves are not aware of it."

"Well, that'd be a neat trick, Cap'n," Monty said, "since we only just scooped this water outta the pond before headin' out here. Or d'you reckon the whole pond's been poisoned?"

"Poison could have been applied to the insides of those pouches," Urthfist countered. "Only beasts drinking from them would be affected."

"And remind me again, matey, just why would they do such a scallywag thing?"

"We are enemies. They know I would try to slay them if ever we meet again. I would expect the same of them, although their methods would not be so honorable as open and fair combat. This would be an opportunity to finish us off that they may not have cared to pass up. If you were in our place, would you dare chance it?"

"A good point, sir ... 'cept that nobeast here's poisoned our pond, nor these waterskins." Montybank turned to his companions. "Awright, mateys, bottoms up!" He unstopped his pouch, tilted back his head and squirted several large swallows into his open mouth. When the others saw what he was about, they all opened their own skins and followed his example.

"Ah!" Monty smacked his lips and resealed his carrier. "Cool as an autumn slipstream! An' if it's good enuff fer the Skipper o' Redwall, it oughta be shipshape fer this gang, whaddya say? Or d' you wanna wait to see if we keel over 'n' start floppin' 'round like fish outta water?"

"We have our own supplies," Urthfist replied coolly. "If we need to slake our thirsts, we can accomplish the task ourselves. Thank you."

"Oh." Monty glanced across the columns of the Long Patrol. "Well, d' you mind if we stroll up 'n' down these lines an' get t' know some o' yer crew a bit?"

"I would rather you didn't. My hares are standing at attention ... which means just that. They are not to have any distractions or diversions."

"Then how's about we just rest our rudders down on the grass alongside you, to keep you company while ye're waitin' to go in?"

"Seeing as how we are supposed to stay in formation and not break ranks, according to the agreement worked out with your Abbess, I am hardly in a position to stop you."

"Well now ye're talkin'! Okay, lads, let's find some dry land fer our keels to call port. We're gonna be hospitable to these sour souls if it kills us!"

Many of the hares were grinning at Monty's flamboyant manner. There was something positively hare-like about the otter's exhuberant geniality.

The otters went around to the west side of the Long Patrol formation and sprawled comfortably in the high grass. Their waterskins sloshed and gurgled invitingly as they were tossed onto the ground. More than one hare eyed the pouches with longing. Fresh, cool Abbey pond water was bound to taste better than their own supplies, which had been out in the sun all morning.

Major Safford studied the waterskins out of the corner of his eye, then leaned in toward Urthfist. "I say, Lord, mebbe a few small sips wouldn't hurt. Might be good for morale, an' all that."

"Until we're inside Redwall, we will use only our own rations. If anybeast here gets thirsty before then, they can sip from their personal canteens." Urthfist's tone let the senior hare know that the matter was not open for debate.

Monty and his crew lounged around for awhile, trying in vain to draw the Long Patrol hares out of their decorum and into friendly conversation, but apart from a few casual words, the hares were taking matters too seriously to engage in idle chitchat. Urthfist still did not entirely trust his brother's forces not to stage a surprise attack, even under the watchful eyes of the Abbeybeasts, and he had ordered all his hares to remain on full alert.

Finally the otters rose and started back toward the Abbey. Monty called back over his shoulder, "See you inside! Hadn't planned on luggin' this heavy thing back in with me, but since you lot wouldn't help lighten it, guess I'm stuck with a full hold this return voyage! Until we meet again, enjoy the sun!"

After the otters were gone, a few of the hares helped themselves to long swigs from their canteens. But after the prospect of cystalline Abbey water, their stale and tepid supplies were hardly appealing.

A short time later, the south wallgate opened once more. Urthfist waited for somebeast to emerge. Instead, a small winged form sailed out over the wall just above the open gate and swooped down toward them. Urthfist supposed it was the same sparrow who'd been among them earlier taking their head count, but he was no expert at telling one bird from another. The only birds he usually got around Salamandastron were seagulls, and they were all troublemakers.

The Sparra touched down two paces before Urthfist and gave a cordial, wings-spread and head-lowered bow. "By your leave, Lord, the Abbess now grants you and your hares free entrance to Redwall. You may go inside whenever you wish."

The Badger Lord wasted no time. "Hares," he bellowed in command, "forward, march!"

The columns didn't break formation or reorganize their ranks, but simply started forward in one huge, neat block. Highwing fluttered aside to avoid being run over by the advancing tide of beasts. The ground beneath his talons faintly trembled to the pounding of so many heavy paws marching in step, as the main force of Salamandastron advanced upon Redwall.


	25. Chapter 51

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-One

Fitkin the ferry shrew could see and hear the army approaching from a long way off.

He sat atop the timber roof of his partially-collapsed hovel in the morning sun, watching with keen interest. This force was much larger than the troop of hares whose badger commander had caused him so much grief. As they drew nearer, it was easy to see that there were no hares amongst this horde. They seemed to be mostly weasels (or stoats or ferrets, they were all the same to Fitkin), and that worried him a little. Fitkin had done business with vermin in the past, but an army this size could be real trouble. Small gangs usually left him alone, knowing they might have need of his services someday, and he was good enough with a blade to take care of any lone troublemakers who drifted his way.

But now, his deserted ferry raft sat upon the opposite shore where the badger and his hares had stranded it, leaving him in no position to offer crossings to anybeast. As for his generous surplus of stock and belongings, as mighty a horde as this would simply take anything they wanted. If they were a particularly bloodthirsty lot, he'd be lucky if they left him alive. Fitkin might have fled, but there were few places to hide in the Plains, and short shrew legs were not made for outrunning larger beasts. If they meant him harm, there was no way to escape now, but if they were peaceable, something might be gained by holding his ground and putting on a brave face.

Fitkin watched some more, and his wonderment grew. Many of those beasts at the front of the broad column weren't vermin at all, but honest-to-goodness otters, marching right alongside actual weasels! From his slightly elevated perch, Fitkin could make out long gaps in the procession, which could only mean that shorter creatures such as mice and shrews occupied those stretches, in between all those rats and weasel-types. Perhaps they were slaves ... but those otters didn't look like prisoners. And at the fore of them all, crimson armor shining in the morning sunshine, strode a mighty badger warrior who could have been the twin of the one Fitkin had faced days before.

"What in the name o' flaming fur's goin' on here?" the ferry shrew muttered to himself.

The troop column drew to a halt, stopping almost upon Fitkin's doorstep. There was barely room for them to pass between his dugout hovel and the river's edge.

The badger studied Fitkin with a steely, penetrating gaze. "Greetings, friend shrew. Have you had some trouble?"

Nobeast could have missed the tumbled-down appearance of the structure's front section that Urthfist had collapsed, or the grimy layer of dirt coating Fitkin's fur and clothes. The shrew snorted.

"Been three days diggin' m'self outta my own home. This morning's the first sun 'n' fresh air I've had in all that time."

The badger studied the narrow tunnel and small mound of pushed-out dirt at the base of one wall. It looked like it had been dug by bare paws without the aid of tools, an observation borne out by the raw and soiled look of the shrew's forepaws. No surprise that it had taken three days.

The grungy beast grumbled on. "Can you believe, in all my stocks, I didn't have a single shovel? Broke my sword early on, tryin' to dislodge some rocks in my way. Hadta work in the dark, too - wasn't gettin' enuff air down there to risk lightin' candle nor lantern. Thought fer awhile I might be a goner. But old Fitkin's a tough nut, an' I weren't gonna let that nasty badger turn my home inta my grave, no sir!"

The red-armored beast before him straightened to full attention. "Badger, did you say?"

Fitkin nodded. "Most ill-tempered ruffian I e'er seen, an' I seen my share, believe you me. Came along three, mebbe four days ago, him an' his fourscore hares. We was negotiatin' fer me to get them all across, when he picks me up, hurls me inta my toll station, and pulls the roof down, shuttin' me inside." He motioned to the far bank. "While I lay inside, stunned an' helpless, those rude thieves crossed themselves on my boat, an' then left it abandoned over there. Now, how'm I s'posed to get my livelihood back, I ask you?"

A young otter from the front of the column, wearing a monk's habit, stepped up alongside the badger. "Why did they want to cross the river? Did they say where they were going?"

Fitkin nodded. "Up Redwall ways. Said something bad was goin' on in that part o' Mossflower, an' expected there'd be lotsa fightin' an' killin'. Didn't wanna part with any o' their weapons, said they'd be needing every one. That bunch was goin' to war, an' no mistake."

The otter looked to the badger gravely. "You were right, Lord. Urthfist's making for Redwall. And from the sound of what went on here, he doesn't seem to be in a very reasonable state of mind. What do we do now?"

The badger said to Fitkin, "Are you sure about the number of hares he had with him?"

"Sure as shivers I am. 'Twas eighty, or mebbe eighty-one, think they said they had an extra one travellin' with 'em. I remembers it 'cos I was figgerin' how many trips across it'd take t' ferry the whole lot of 'em. Guess they didn't like the final tally, 'cos they sealed me in my home an' pulled themselves across. An' that's stealin', plain an' simple!" He glanced between the two beasts. "I take it ye're acquainted with those rabble rousers?"

The badger nodded. "My brother."

"Yah, I thought I saw a resemblance. His armor weren't red like yers, but otherwise ye're like enuff as two peas in a pod. So, what's the deal 'tween you two? Family feud or sumpthing?"

"It appears he is intent upon challenging me for the Lordship of Salamandastron. Unfortunately for him, he is travelling in the wrong direction for that." The badger gestured to the otter in the habit. "I am Lord Urthblood, and this is Winokur of Redwall. As you may well imagine, your tidings bear greatly upon both of us."

Fitkin looked at Winokur. "Thought that's what those robes hadta be. What's a Redwaller doin' marchin' in this crowd?"

Winokur waved a paw back toward Warnokur. "My father here has been in Lord Urthblood's service for a season. But I am travelling with them to serve as the official representative of Redwall, to negotiate a peaceful settlement between Urthblood and Urthfist, if such a thing may be worked out."

"If my brother crossed this river three days ago, he is probably at Redwall by now." Urthblood gazed upon the mountains, which now loomed large ahead of them and to their right. "By this time tomorrow we should be past the mountains and onto the coastal plains, and reach Salamandastron on the following day. I see no way my brother could overtake us, unless he turned around before reaching Redwall. And if he has eighty hares with him, that means he left only twenty behind to guard the mountain. A risky move, with Tratton so powerful these days. Hopefully the searats will have left Salamandastron alone. But it is all the more reason for us to make haste, so that we may install a proper force there to keep the coastlands secure from Tratton."

"But, what about Redwall?" Winokur said. "If your brother's gone there, and he's not thinking right ... "

"What would you have us do?" Urthblood countered. "We are far from Redwall; my brother is probably already there. But your home has high walls, sturdy gates, and many capable defenders, including those I assigned from my own forces. Machus would not allow their vigilance to grow lax. My brother could not catch them unaware. And, we may hope, his hares are not so misguided by his delusions that they would war against woodlanders, even though he may."

"A good point." Winokur turned to Fitkin. "How did Urthfist's hares strike you? Did they seem as riled up as he was?"

"Well ... " Fitkin thought it over. "They did seem to be bargainin' with me in good faith, until that big bully broke in an' pulled my home down around my ears! Mind you, those hares were a grim bunch, an' they didn't seem overly fond o' my terms, but we mighta worked out sumpthing. Then again, you'll notice none of 'em bothered t' dig me out an' see if I were still alive, after their master had his way with me!"

"It doesn't matter," Urthblood said to Winokur. "Redwall will have to fend for itself without us. I am confident they will manage, as long as they keep their heads and defend the Abbey as they would from any enemy. My brother and his hares won't be able to get into Redwall if the Abbess doesn't want them to. Fitkin, I am grieved that you were caused so much misfortune by my errant sibling. He only came this way because he heard that I was at Redwall. Although I may not tarry here long, let me do what I may to make up for my brother's misdeeds."

"Okay by me," the shrew readily agreed.

Urthblood dispatched two of his otters to swim across the river and retrieve the ferry raft. While they boarded and were pulling it back to the south shore, Urthblood personally helped a team of his strongest otters and weasels to unblock Fitkin's abode and prop up the fallen timbers into a temporary doorway that would serve until the shrew could shore it up properly.

Presently the army was ready to get underway again. The delay here had amounted to less than half an hour, but they were minutes that had forged a new friendship and gained Urthblood a new ally on the Western Plains.

Fitkin inspected his reopened hovel, then went to his ferry, making sure Urthfist's hares had done the craft no harm. "I'm mighty obliged, Lord," he thanked Urthblood. "Um, don't suppose you'd be needin' ferry service anytime soon? You've entitled yerself to a whoppin' big discount."

"We will be crossing this stream, but not until we reach the other side of the range, where the river re-emerges from the mountains and crosses the coastlands to the sea. Fare thee well, good Fitkin. I do not imagine that we shall meet again this season."

"Good travels t' you, Lord. If ever you or yer troops need my help when ye're in these parts o' the Plains, don't hesitate to call on ol' Fitkin."

The ferry shrew sat atop his home once more as the army marched by. His breath nearly caught in his throat as the procession went on, and on, and on. He'd not really been able to see before how truly massive Urthblood's force was, or how varied. These fighters numbered five or six times Urthfist's hares, and included almost every type of creature Fitkin could imagine. Many gave him friendly nods or salutes as they passed, and the shrew brigade of Captain Bremo held high their shortswords to the sky and unleashed a hearty hail as they tramped past their fellow shrew. Fitkin was moved as he hadn't been in many a season.

A platoon of rats, one of several in the column, brought up the rear, and then the army was past, receding into the flat distances of the Western Plains. Already, Lord Urthblood and the head of the column was lost to sight. Fitkin sighed to shake himself out of his parade stupor, then lept down to light a lamp a give a closer inspection to the wreckage inside his toll station. Now that he was back in business, he had to get things in order. The next paying customer might happen his way at any moment. As long as it wasn't an irate badger with fourscore hares, he'd be happy.

00000000000

The squirrels of the Forest Patrol moved like a red wind through the treetops of Mossflower, leaping from branch to branch as they blazed their arboreal path north.

"Stay close!" Alexander shouted to those in the vanguard. "We don't want to get ahead of the marchers! We're here to cover their rear flank, in case they're pursued!"

Those in the lead, heedful of their chief, paused on their limbs and branches, waiting for the rest to catch up.

Alex stood balanced in the deep fork of a tall oak. He glanced down. Directly below him, Machus and his troops streamed past, picking their way between the trees. The swordfox was keeping his group tightly together, in spite of any clear trail in this part of the woods, and he kept their pace brisk. Still, it would be very easy for the fast-moving squirrels to outpace them if Alex didn't keep a close eye on things.

Lady Mina settled onto the branch alongside him. "They're making good time," she observed. "A run through thick forest is never as easy as a march along an open path."

"Do you really suppose Urthfist might try to follow us?" Alex wondered.

Mina shrugged. "Who can say what goes through the mind of a Badger Lord? I would not presume to suppose what Lord Urthblood is thinking most of the time, and I have had many seasons to get to know him."

"Well, at least we're putting some good distance between us and Redwall, in case he gets any ideas."

"Machus and I are still counting on your Abbess being able to keep Urthfist at the Abbey for some time," said Mina. "If he sets his mind to a serious pursuit, he could close the gap very quickly. And Machus will have to leave the cover of Mossflower eventually, since Salamandastron is our goal now. That means no more squirrels to give us cover from the trees. If Urthfist and his hares catch up to us in open country, we will be hard pressed to fend him off."

"Then you'd better stay to the woods for as long as you can."

"That's the plan."

Elmwood and two others came leaping through the canopy toward them. They were the trailing rearguard of this mission.

"No sign of pursuit, sir," Elmwood reported. "The woods are clear for as far back as we could see."

"Good. Let's hope it stays that way." Alex turned to Mina. "Come on, we don't want Machus and his troops to get too far ahead of us, even if any attack would most likely come from behind. Keep our back door covered, Elmwood. We'll see you again at our next rest."

"You can count on us, sir." Elmwood and his two companions spread out to form a wider line through the trees, to better guard and protect the marchers' rear flank. Alexander and Mina jumped and leaped forward through the canopy, racing to catch up with the rest.

00000000000

Urthfist and his hares drew to a halt at the open south wallgate.

The Abbess, Montybank, and a few of the other Abbey creatures stood just outside the entryway to greet the badger's forces and escort them inside. Urthfist merely stood and looked at them in silence for some moments, then turned to his commanding hare.

"Major Safford, organize a double Patrol of six hares, and take them in for a thorough scouting of the Abbey. You'll want Hanchett with you, since he's the only one of you who's familiar with the inside of Redwall. Put three up on the wall to secure the ramparts and keep a high watch on the grounds. The rest will go over every patch of ground and through every room and passage of the Abbey itself. I want this place scoured from top to bottom for any sign of vermin before the rest of us enter."

Vanessa made a dour face as Safford broke formation to pick the scouting team. "My Lord, you don't really suspect we'd invite you into an ambush, do you?"

"Where my brother is concerned, I take no chances, Abbess."

"Your brother is no longer at Redwall, and neither is any creature in his service. I personally have just seen them off through the north gate. You have the word of the Abbess of Redwall on this."

"Good," Urthfist nodded. "Then my scouts should finish their survey quickly, if there are no enemies here to find."

Vanessa shrugged in exasperation. "Have it your way."

00000000000

Major Safford put Captain Taywood in charge of the inspection Patrol; the Major thought it best that he remain outside with Urthfist.

As soon as they were through the wallgate, Taywood sent one hare up to each north corner of the walltop, and a third to stand directly over the south gate. The three of them would be able to survey every part of the Abbey grounds from these positions, without losing sight of each other. Until they were certain that there were no hostile forces remaining within Redwall, it would not do for any hare to become separated from its comrades.

Once the three lookouts were in position and waved an all-clear from the ramparts, Hanchett led Captain Taywood and the other hare Dellow on a run around the Abbey grounds. Hanchett had had several days to familiarize himself with Redwall's layout during his captivity, and knew just about every place where a group of beasts might hide. As many of the Abbey residents looked on, the three hares speedily circled the pond, zigzagged through the orchard, sped through the gardens, and raced around the north side of the main Abbey building on their way back toward their starting point. They poked their heads into the gatehouse cottage, which was empty since Arlyn was still up on the south walltop, then paused for a moment's rest on the steps into the main building.

Taywood was breathing heavily by the time they'd finished their circuit of the grounds. Leaning back on his heels to take in the majestic red sandstone edifice that towered above them, he whistled. "Had no idea ... this bally place ... was so blinkin' big!"

Hanchett grinned at his captain. "You haven't seen the half of it, sir. Wait until you see the inside of the Abbey!"

00000000000

It was past noon when Taywood, Hanchett and Dellow reappeared through the south wallgate. Urthfist appraised the returning trio with a critical gaze. "That certainly took long enough, Captain. The Major and I were beginning to wonder whether we'd have to send another Patrol squad in after you."

"Redwall's a whoppin' big place, M'Lord," Taywood responded, gesturing to Hanchett. "Lotsa bally nooks 'n' crannies where nastybeasts could hide out, an' yer orders were t' make sure the Abbey was clear, top to bottom. Never coulda done half th' job without this young spy. Hanch did a first class job of mappin' out Redwall in his mind while he was bein' kept 'ere. Don't think a score o' us coulda done half as well in twice the time if we'd gone in cold."

"Good work, Hanchett." Urthfist looked back to Taywood. "So, Captain, you deem Redwall to be free of vermin?"

"Ah, well, I wouldn't exactly say that ... "

The badger's eyes narrowed. "Either it is or it isn't, Captain. Which is it?"

Hanchett stepped forward to stand beside Taywood. "It's that one-eared weasel I'd told you 'bout, sir - the one I was chained to fer awhile. Smallert's his name. He's the one wot accidentally slashed that mousechild."

Flecks of red began to stand out in Urthfist's slitted eyes. His gaze went to the wallgate, which was still standing open for them anytime the Salamandastronians cared to enter. Most of the Redwallers had gone back inside once it became apparent that it would still be some time before Urthfist would be accepting their invitation. Now only a couple of otters stood guard at the gate, and they were too far away to hear what was being said between badger and hares.

Urthfist's heavy paw went to his sword hilt and he took a stride purposefully toward the gate. "Then we must deal with that villain in the proper fashion."

Hanchett jumped in front of his master, striving to hold Urthfist back with both paws pressed flat against the badger's breastplate. He dug in with his footpaws, but Urthfist's momentum was so great that Hanchett's powerful toes actually scored parallel furrows into the earth for several paces before Urthfist saw how earnest his young scout was about stopping him.

"No, sir! You mustn't!"

"Why not?" Urthfist challenged, in no mood for insubordination.

"The Abbess has granted him the protection of Redwall," Hanchett almost tripped over his own words as he hastened to explain. "They've, uh, sorta adopted him, so t' speak. If we cause him harm now, it'll undo everything we're tryin' to do here. The Abbess would declare us enemies an' chuck us outta Redwall again. We hafta respect their ways, M'Lord."

"He's right, sir," Taywood agreed. "We found that weasel sittin' up in the Infirmary with the mouse he'd wounded and the child's brother. The three of 'em actin' like they was best pals. Wouldn't wanna try 'n' explain it m'self, but these folks've taken that vermin in as one o' their own. Like Hanchett says, we dare not violate their laws. We gotta leave that weasel alone."

Urthfist was not entirely convinced. "I am sworn to let nobeast of my brother's remain alive inside Redwall."

"Well, look at it this way, sir," Hanchett said, "he's no longer in your brother's service - "

"Dishonorably discharged, no hope of reinstatement," Taywood put in helpfully.

" - so technically, he's not one of your brother's creatures anymore."

"But he was!" Urthfist roared.

Traveller stepped forward. "And Urthblood was once a pretty decent fellow, M'Lord, before that prophecy came along an' he became all twisted 'n' evil. A beast can change. We've seen it ourselves. Now, I'm inclined t' believe these Redwallers wouldn'ta given this weasel the benefit of their doubt unless they were pretty well convinced he was worth it. An' if they've done that, then we've got to, too."

Urthfist chewed distastefully on nothing. "This does not sit well with me," he said, an air of defeat in his voice.

Major Safford entered the discussion. "We don't none of us hafta like it, but if that's the way it's gotta be, then there's nothin' else for it. It's only one measly li'l weasel, after all, M'Lord. If he's got any smarts at all, he'll have the sense to stay well clear of us while we're here. But Hanchett says he's not an altogether bad egg, an' anyway he's not worth jeopardizing everything we came here for, wot? So let's just forget about the lout, an' get down to the business at paw ... which is puttin' ourselves in Redwall, an' convincin' these folk that we're the bally good guys."

Urthfist's claw finally came off his sword. Hanchett, Taywood, Safford and Traveller stood around him in a crescent, gazing at their Lord both imploringly and expectantly.

"Major, you remind me why I promoted you to your present high rank," Urthfist said at last. "You speak good sense. You all do. I will not slay this weasel. I will abide by this Abbey's rules, just as any visitor to Redwall would be expected to do. Now let us go inside, and be on our best behavior. We must do whatever is necessary to win Redwall to our cause!"


	26. Chapter 52

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Two

The sun had passed its zenith over northern Mossflower and was beginning its slow slide down the western half of the sky on its tour through the afternoon.

Very little of that heavenly display was visible within the dense canopy through which Alexander and the rest of the Forest Patrol raced. Even less must have been visible from the forest floor, where Machus and his brigade of Northlanders marched. Yet the ragged column suddenly came to a purposeful halt, and the fox whistled a signal for Lady Mina to climb down for a consultation.

Alex sat upon a wide ash limb, staring down at the stopped procession. "Now what do you suppose this is all about?"

"One way to find out," Mina said, and promptly dropped off the branch in a rapid descent to the ground. Alex gave a whistle signal of his own that would keep his fellow Redwall squirrels from spreading too far apart during this halt, then followed Mina down.

"We turn west," Machus announced when the two squirrels reached him.

"We've only been marching for half a day," Alex said. "We can keep on north for awhile if we want. The forest provides good cover for some way yet."

Machus shook his head. "We've kept our pace fast, even through these woods. My purpose is to get to Salamandastron as quickly as I may, and rejoin Lord Urthblood there. I feel we've put enough distance between ourselves and Redwall to put off any pursuit that may be following us. I want to turn and strike out across the Western Plains, after a quick rest here."

Alex had to disagree. "You have to get around the mountains anyway, Machus. It makes more sense to stay to the woods for as long as we can, and wait to turn west until the cover gives out. Otherwise, you'll be out on the open plains for too long."

"I'm not planning on going all the way around the north or south end of the range to get to the coast," Machus explained. "Lord Urthblood has spoken of a more direct route that we may try. If we go too much farther north, the way will be harder to pick up. It will be difficult enough from here, for the route I have in mind is not widely known nor plain to see. But if we can find it, it will cut days off the journey. And I do not suspect that Urthfist would chase us straight across the Western Plains, even if he discovers that is the way we have taken."

Alexander looked to Mina. "You're in command here too. What do you say to this?"

Mina deliberated with herself in silence for a moment. "I think I know what Machus has in mind. He's right; we'll have to turn west here."

Alex pursed his lips, then nodded. "Just realize, we won't be able to give you any cover from here on. Where there aren't any trees, the Mossflower Patrol isn't much use."

"I understand," said Mina. "But the help you've already given us should be all we need. But I agree with Machus. I think this is the best way."

"I don't suppose there's any way I could convince you to come back to Redwall with us, Mina? You'd be most welcome."

"Not by Lord Urthfist, I have a feeling." She took Alexander's paw in hers. "You know I can't go back, even if it were safe for me to do so. My place is with my fellow Northlanders, and Lord Urthblood. I'm going to Salamandastron with Machus. For me, anything else would be unthinkable."

"I know. Just thought I'd ask." Alex gazed up and scanned the nearby canopy until he spotted Elmwood, then motioned for the other squirrel to climb down and join them. "Elmwood, Machus and Mina have decided they must leave the cover of forest here and turn west. I want you to set up a standing defensive wedge in the canopy just south of this spot. If Urthfist does come this way, the idea is to keep him too busy to notice that his quarry has changed course. I hear his tracking hares are good, but it's hard to track anything when you're dodging arrows from above. If you can engage them before they reach this turn-off point, that will buy these marchers more time to get well out onto the Plains and, hopefully, out of sight of anybeast chasing them. Once you've got the defensive line established, hold it until sundown, when it gets too dark to get good shots. If there's no sign of pursuit by then, head back to the Abbey to see how things are going there. I'm putting you in charge of the Mossflower Patrol."

"Sir?"

"I won't be going back to Redwall," Alex said to his second-in-command. "When Mina and Machus start out across the Western Plains, I'm going to be with them." He glanced at the swordfox. "Unless you have any objections?"

"Oh, no," said Machus. "I've seen you shoot. An archerbeast of your skill is not a boon I'd easily turn away. Come, and most welcome."

"Well, he might have no objections," Elmwood protested, "but the Abbess prohibited you from going to Salamandastron."

"That was before," said Alex. "Things have changed. I'm needed more with these beasts than I am at Redwall."

"Easy for you to say. I'm the one who has to go back and face the Abbess and explain why you're not with us. What am I going to tell her?"

"Tell her that if I survive the adventures ahead of me, I'll make my way back to Redwall eventually, and then she may bite my head off all she wants."

"I hardly think that'll satisfy her, sir."

"Well, then you think of something better." Alex grinned impishly. "You're the head of the Forest Patrol now. Use your discretion."

Elmwood looked Alex in the eye. "What makes you think I won't just chuck it and come along with you?"

"Because I ordered you not to."

"And you're counting on me to obey you."

"Do you have other ideas?"

Elmwood was quiet for a long time. "Yeah," he said at last, "ideas. But you know I'll end up doing what you ask. I could never disobey you."

Alex clapped his old friend on the shoulder. "I owe you one, Elmwood."

"Yeah. A big one. But just come back in one piece, and that'll be payment enough for me." Elmwood turned a lingering, longing glance toward Lady Mina, then spun and raced up into the treetops without another word.

Mina looked at Alexander. "You don't have to do this."

He returned her bright-eyed gaze. "Yes, I do."

00000000000

For the second time that day, Redwall was laid open to inspection from the hares of the Long Patrol. This time, however, it was no mere trio making a hasty run through the Abbey, but the full fourscore that Urthfist had brought with him from Salamandastron. The Badger Lord posted over a dozen up on the walltop, and deployed the remainder in groups all throughout the grounds and the main building. All the hares behaved formally cordial to any Redwallers that they met, but their no-nonsense manner left no doubt in the Abbeydwellers' minds that this was an occupation force, moreso than Urthblood's troops had ever been.

Forcing herself to remain gracious, Vanessa invited Urthfist and his officers to a late lunch with the Abbey leaders down in Cavern Hole. To her mild surprise, he declined, preferring to remain outdoors where, as he put it, "nobeast will be likely to catch me off guard in a confined space." So, after a long table was hastily put out and set for a meal, they took their lunch under the afternoon sun on the south lawn.

Urthfist barely touched the Redwall fare. Obviously, food was not uppermost in his mind. His hares, however, indulged themselves with the gusto for which their kind was renowned, once they saw that they'd be taking from the same bowls and pitchers as the Redwallers.

"Apologies if we seem overly suspicious, ma'am," Major Safford said to Vanessa. "Don't mean t' be ungracious of yer spankin' hospitality, but with all we've been through an' everything wot's goin' on, I'm sure you can excuse us for puttin' security before politeness."

"I am glad you've finally seen sense, Abbess, and thrown those barbarians out of your home," Urthfist said. "Now we may begin to work together to battle this scourge that has visited Mossflower."

Vanessa quickly held up a paw. "Just a moment, Lord. Before things go any further, let us understand one another. The only reason I ordered your brother's troops to leave Redwall was because you were threatening to put our Abbey under siege as long as they remained. I am not choosing sides here. Quite the contrary. Until this matter is settled between you and your brother, Redwall will not ally itself with either side."

Urthfist's eyes widened at her. "After all that I have told you ... "

"We have heard so many conflicting and contradictory things that we cannot tell where the truth ends and falsehood - or misunderstanding - begins. Therefore, it is not our place to try to figure out who is right and who is wrong in this. Redwall will remain neutral, in the hope that you and your brother may be able to work out your differences for the sake of the lands."

"Then why did you even bother asking us inside?" Urthfist queried.

"As long as you are with us here, we can be asured that you are not out hunting our former guests with the intent to do them harm. And you will be able to see for yourself that we are allowing none of your brother's forces to remain garrisoned here ... a condition that must also apply to you, Lord. We would not deny you our hospitality after your long travels, but we cannot have you staying here as more than the most temporary of guests. Then, you and your hares must leave Redwall too, and not return until you and Lord Urthblood can settle your differences."

"Ah. So, how long before our welcome wears out?"

Vanessa pursed her lips. "Now, that does present me with a rather interesting dilemma, Lord. In all fairness, I cannot have you staying here for any length of time, after denying your brother's soldiers permission to remain here. On the other paw, my main concern is preventing a war, if I am at all able to do so. As long as you are here, I can know that war has not broken out yet. Part of me is tempted to permit you an open-ended stay at Redwall, if that will keep you and Lord Urthblood from coming to blows."

"You are very much mistaken, Abbess, if you suppose the war has not yet started. Lies are weapons, as sure as swords and spears, and my brother has cast his lies about with the skill of a master deceiver. But if it is bloodshed you fear most, I can assure you that this too has already begun. I left behind twenty good hares to guard Salamandastron, but they would not be enough to hold out against my brother's horde, and he would not let them stop him from taking the mountain for his own. Even as we speak, I fear those noble beasts' lives are spent in a lost cause. This is war, Abbess, and make no mistake of it."

"I am sure there are many among your brother's followers who would insist that Lord Urthblood is rightfully entitled to the throne of Salamandastron, and that any hares who would fight to keep it from him are the ones responsible for starting trouble. I do not know enough about what is going on here to have an opinion one way or the other. Or perhaps I should say I know too much, but I can't make heads or tails out of all the different things we've been told."

"Would you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?" Urthfist asked.

"I already have, otherwise you would not be sitting here now," Vanessa answered. "I am trying very hard to give both you and Lord Urthblood the benefit of the doubt, but you seem to think it should be reserved for you alone. As long as you take such an unyielding position, it will not help your cause with us. We must reach our own conclusions, based on all we've seen and heard."

"You have not heard enough?" Urthfist barked incredulously. "What will it take? Bloody corpses of the slain piled up outside your Abbey's door?"

"You were threatening to slay some beasts yourself, if I remember correctly," the Abbess said. "Fortunately, that has been avoided. Now let us see what other bloodshed we may be able to prevent. You seem convinced that your brother will slay the hares you left behind at Salamandastron. What if you are wrong? If Urthblood spares them, would that not be a foundation upon which the two of you could enter into negotiations with each other?"

"I am not wrong," Urthfist stated with certainty. "My hares will fight if he tries to enter Salamandastron. They will fight to the death."

"Then perhaps you should not have instructed them to do so. Your brother will be able to say it was their own fault, for trying to bar him from his own home and refusing to treat with him. Let us assume the worst, then: that there has been a battle, and all of your hares are now dead, no doubt along with many of Urthblood's own troops. That puts him in charge of Salamandastron, with a tremendous force to help him hold it. What will you do? There is very little chance that you and the fourscore hares you have here would be able to win back the mountain, and a very good chance that you would all die if you were to attempt such an assault. Is this not reason enough to seek some alternative to open war with your brother?"

"Would you have me make peace with a monster who has slaughtered my loyal troops?"

Vanessa looked around. "Right now I see a Badger Lord and eighty hares who are all very much alive. I for one would like to see you all stay that way."

"At what price, Abbess? There are worse things than death. Living as a slave, for one. Am I to stand by and do nothing while my brother's evil fastens onto Salamandastron and spreads along the coast, even to the borders of Mossflower? I would sooner give my life combating such a thing than live as a coward who did nothing to stop it. We are warriors. The prospect of dying a valiant death in battle does not phase us."

"Perhaps not, Lord. But you can only die once. Better I think to look at all of your options while you're still alive to do so. I would not ask you to turn your back on your duty, or to let an evil go unrighted. There must be some way for you and Urthblood to meet peacefully, and discuss your differences. As Abbess, this is what I must strive for, and any way that I can bring it about, I will."

Urthfist shook his head. "My brother has carefully arranged this treachery so that what you suggest is not possible. He is far from me now, and in control of Salamandastron. He will not come out of that place unless it is to meet me on the field of battle. He has seen to that."

"It takes two sides to fight a battle. Urthblood won't be able to meet you on the battlefield - if that is even what he wants at all - unless you march there to engage him. What we really need is some way to find out what is going on at Salamandastron so we can stop guessing at all these what-ifs and could-be's. Lord, might you consider abiding here in Mossflower until we can dispatch a messenger from Redwall who can go to the coast and then return to tell us exactly what is happening there? It would also be a way to send word to your brother that you wish to talk with him ... "

"The only talking that will take place between us will be with our blades," Urthfist growled.

"Can't you bring yourself to cooperate with us at least a little?" Vanessa asked, growing impatient with the badger's stubbornness.

"Here is what will happen with your plan," Urthfist derided, leaning over the table toward the Redwallers. "You will send your messenger, while my hares and I will sit around waiting. When half a season has gone by without his return, you will send another messenger to find out what happened to the first. And another half-season will pass without word. No matter how long you wait, no matter how many runners you send out, it will avail you none, because my brother will not let them leave Salamandastron alive. He has the prize he sought. No more does he have to worry about keeping up his deception. He does not care what you think of him now; he has his fortress, and the coastlands. He will not talk to anybeast, unless it is to issue mandates to them from his place of power."

"Or so you insist," old Arlyn gently retorted, an innocent smile on his aged face. "We won't find out for certain unless we send somebeast, will we?"

"You would only be wasting their lives, Abbot," Urthfist spat, not taken in by Arlyn's feigned dodderism. "He will slay any Redwaller who goes to spy on him."

"I very much hope you are wrong," Vanessa said primly, "because there is a Redwaller marching with Urthblood as we speak."

"Then I fear that one is a deadbeast."

"Still, we must find out," Vanessa insisted. "The only question is, who shall we choose to make the journey to Salamandastron?"

"How long would it take one of us to get there, anyway?" Geoff wondered.

"Longer than it'd take a hare," Traveller said, and turned to Urthfist. "M'Lord, maybe the Abbess hasn't got such a bad idea. She's right about one thing: if His Bloodiness has Salamandastron in his claws, we'd be hard pressed to take it back. But Redwall and Mossflower are still free 'n' clear o' his vermin rabble, an' I'm thinkin' maybe we oughtta make it our immediate mission to keep it that way. We can't stay at Redwall, but Mossflower's a big place. As good a place as any to establish a defensive base t' square off 'gainst your brother. You've always told us he wouldn't stop until he brought all the lands under his power. Well, if we waste ourselves in a futile attempt to recapture Salamandastron, who's gonna be here to stop him when he moves on Mossflower?"

Urthfist bristled. "I will not live as an exile from my own home, while so undeserving a beast as my brother claims an honor which he forfeited long ago."

"Wouldn't hafta be any sorta permanent thing, sir," Traveller said hastily. "But the thing is, while most of us stay here to fortify our fallback postition, as it were, a squad of us can make a quick run to the coast, have a peek at wot's goin' on at Salamandastron, then dash back here to give a proper report on the bally situation. That way, we wouldn't be workin' in th' dark like we are now. And' if any of Colonel Clewiston's hares did manage to escape your brother's horde, we'd be able to lend them a paw as well."

Urthfist was doubtful. "None will have survived. Any more who venture there will only be slain as well."

"Sir!" Traveller declared with mock affrontery. "We are the Long Patrol, after all. We'll be able to sneak right up to their doorstep, an' the blighters won't even know we're there. We know the lay o' the land around Salamandastron better'n any of them - "

"Except for my brother. He will have all the approaches very well guarded, you can count on that."

"Then we'll go as close as we can. We should still be able to make some worthwhile observations, even if we have to keep our distance and stay low. It would still give us more t' go on than we've got now."

Urthfist seemed to chew it over. "In the time it would take for you to get there, and then return to Redwall, the situation could change so much that your observations would be worthless."

"Keep in mind, M'Lord, a Patrol of three or six hares could travel much faster an' make much better time than the whole lot of us did during our march here. An' consider also, we now know it may not be necessary to go all the way around the mountains to make the run 'tween Redwall 'n' Salamandastron."

Urthfist raised an eyebrow. "You're talking about Browder's pass through the mountains?"

Traveller nodded. "We couldn't have taken the whole column over it, but a small Patrol should be able to manage it. Besides, if that louse Browder could do it, so can we!"

"You don't even know for sure that there is such a pass," Urthfist pointed out. "Browder may very well have been lying about it, along with everything else."

"Melanie's Patrol said there did seem to be one. Sure, they didn't go all th' way over it, but Browder knew right where it was, and he had to get to Salamandastron somehow. I'd wager my whiskers there is a pass. An' if we can find it, we'll be able to make the run in three days each way. That oughtta be enough to do some good. Wot d'you say, M'Lord?"

"Perhaps ... if you can find it. That alone might be a challenge. And remember, my brother knows of that pass, so his forces may be using it. At the very least, there is a good chance he will have it guarded. It is a risky proposition, Traveller."

"Risk?" The veteran hare grinned. "Been thrivin' on risk these past twenty seasons, M'Lord. Why should a little more of it stop me now?"

"Well," Vanessa broke in, "this isn't anything you have to make a decision about right this instant. I would encourage you all to spend at least this one night in our Abbey. I'm sure you could all use a rest after your travels. Tomorrow, you can decide whether you would prefer to stay here a little longer, or move on. In the meantime, please enjoy our hospitality. We'll do everything we may to accommodate you, and to help you on your way when it is time for you to leave. We did this for Lord Urthblood, and we will do no less for you."

"My thanks, Abbess." Urthfist pushed aside his sparse, unfinished plate. "Earlier you spoke of trying to find beds for all my hares. That will not be nescessary. We shall sleep out here on the lawns."

"Are you sure?" Vanessa asked.

"Not t' worry, ma'am," Traveller assured her, looking around at the lush carpet of greensward that was all around them. "This is a better bed than many we've had in our seasons of patrolling along the coast, or that I was able to find for m'self in the Northlands. We'll be snug 'n' dandy out here, long as we don't get any bally rain."

Arlyn glanced up at the cloudless blue sky. "Not much chance of that, unless we get a real weather change."

Urthfist stood, and Major Safford was right at his side. "M'Lord, were you wantin' to see that weasel now?"

The badger stared off into the distance, not responding for several moments. "No," he decided at last, "I think it would be best if I am not brought face to face with that creature. Just make sure there is always a team of the Patrol with that vermin to keep an eye on him. What these good folk do with him after we leave is their affair, but as long as I am in Redwall, I will want him watched very closely."

00000000000

Smallert spent his first day of freedom up in the Infirmary with Cyril and Cyrus.

The three hares that Urthfist had assigned to monitor the weasel lounged on beds nearby; their relaxed postures did not hide the fact that they were tensed and ready for action should Smallert step out of line.

Sister Aurelia went over to them, somewhat peeved at having such militaristic creatures playing prison guard in her Infirmary and intimidating her guests and patients. "It is nearly dinner time," she said to the trio. "Why don't you good hares go down and join your fellows? I'm sure you'd much rather eat out on the lawns than have to juggle your cups and plates on these beds."

Their leader, a Sergeant Traughber by name, dismissed her feigned concern with the wave of a paw. "Don't see as it makes much difference whether we juggle 'em down on the lawns or up here, ma'am. We're nice 'n' cozy right where we are. An' it seems to me we just finished our bally lunch scoff. How often d' you Redwall folk eat, anyway?"

"It only seems that way," Aurelia said, "because you had a late lunch, after most of us had eaten. But, to answer your question, we eat as often as we please. There's no shortage of food and drink here at Redwall ... although I know a certain otter who's tried his best to create one for many of these past seasons."

"Ho, y' don't say?" Traughber laughed. "I'd like t' meet that old riverhound. He sounds like my kind o' fella!"

"And I'm sure he'd enjoy meeting you. He's probably out having supper with everybeast else. Why not pop downstairs? Just ask for our Skipper of otters, or look for the beast who's plate is piled higher than all the others."

Traughber shook his head. "Nice try, ma'am, but I gotta stay here. Orders, don'tcha know."

Sister Aurelia sighed and drifted over to the two beds where Smallert sat with the mouse brothers. Cyril looked at her expectantly. "Well, are they gonna leave us alone?"

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Aurelia replied. "Looks like those hares are here to stay, until that whole gang of theirs leaves the Abbey. Don't worry, Cyril - it's not like they're bothering anybeast. I think Lord Urthfist just wants some of his soldiers to keep an eye on our friend Smallert. That's all."

Smallert swallowed nervously as he glanced over his shoulder at the hares. "I sure'm glad that badger ain't comin' up here after me. Gotta feeling me 'n' him wouldn't get along so good."

Cyril patted Smallert's paw. "Don't worry. We wouldn't let that big bully do anything to you. You're safe with us."

"Yes," Sister Aurelia agreed, "the safest place for you, Smallert, is at the side of our two young bellringers here. Urthfist wouldn't dare harm you in their presence."

Cyrus sat up straighter in his bed. "Does that mean I can get up and go around the Abbey with Cyril and Smallert?" The two brothers had stopped calling the weasel "Mr. Smallert" after learning that Smallert was in truth only a few seasons older than Cyril was.

"Not just yet, Cyrus."

"Aw, I was well enough to go downstairs this morning to say goodbye to Mr. Machus!"

"That was special occasion. And remember how weak you were feeling by the time you walked back up to the Infirmary? We really should have had somebeast carry you up here."

"I only got tired because I've been in bed for so many days," Cyrus protested. "You said so yourself: now that I'm better, I've gotta start walking around more to get my strength back."

"Yes, that is true. I tell you what. Depending on how you feel tomorrow, maybe this can be your last night in the Infirmary. Would you like that?"

Cyrus beamed. "You mean I'll be able to sleep in my own room again? And stop wearing this nightshirt?"

"Of course. You'll even be able to go where you please, as long as you promise to take it easy, and sit down to rest immediately if you start to feel tired or run down. You won't be able to go back to ringing the bells for awhile, but Maura's been doing a pretty good job in your stead, so we'll let her handle that for a few days more."

"And Smallert will be able to come along with me?"

"I think he would insist upon it, and the Abbess too. One thing, though: wherever you go in the Abbey, I would advise you to stay clear of Lord Urthfist. I think Smallert is exactly right that they wouldn't get along very well."

"Don't you worry 'bout that, marm," Smallert pledged earnestly. "Nobeast hasta tell me twice not t' get in that badger's way. If'n we see 'im comin' our way, these lads 'n' I'll be somewhere else in a trice, an' that's no fib!"


	27. Chapter 53

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Three

True to his word, Urthfist kept all his hares out of doors that night, except for the three who stayed up in the Inifrmary to keep their eye on Smallert.

After dinner, with the sky growing dark and many of the Abbey's residents getting ready to turn in for the night, Vanessa went up to the north walltop to await the return of Alexander and the Mossflower Patrol. The calm of a quiet summer evening lay over the woodlands as she gazed out into the deep-shadowed forest, a dark sea against the slightly lighter sky which still held a silver sheen of the departed day. Even the insects seemed subdued in their nocturnal serenade, as if they too realized matters of great import were unfolding in and around Redwall.

"Peaceful, isn't it?"

Vanessa turned to see Arlyn coming up beside her. "Yes," she said to her old mentor, "and about time. I've had all the talk of war and strife and conflict I care to hear. Standing up here, it's very easy to imagine everything is as simple and carefree as it was before Urthblood ever came to Redwall. You'd hardly guess there's such turmoil going on about us."

Arlyn glanced at a pair of hare sentries, scarcely a dozen paces farther along the ramparts. "Well, perhaps if you ignore them, all seems normal. Uh, they do know not to shoot at our squirrels when they return, don't they?"

Vanessa nodded. "I've already had a word with them. They know to expect Alex and the others. Besides, these particular hares appear to be armed with only javelins and slings. I doubt that they could do much damage to a troop of squirrels, especially with the daylight gone. Urthfist has them up here more to watch than anything else, I think."

"Hmm, it is getting pretty dark. I'm a little surprised the Forest Patrol isn't back yet. I hope they haven't run into any trouble."

"Nothing they couldn't handle, I'm sure," said Vanessa. "Alex told us he might stick with Machus's troops until sundown. That would put them pretty far north of here. Even as fast as our squirrel friends can travel through the trees, they might have quite some distance to cover, and I'm sure the darkness will slow them somewhat too. It could be hours yet before they return to Redwall."

"You're planning to stay up here until they get back?" Arlyn guessed.

"I think so, unless it gets horribly late. I don't think I'll wait up all night, if it comes to that ... although I can't imagine what would take them that long. I'd be very surprised if they're not back well before midnight."

Arlyn leaned on the cooling battlement stone. "I suppose the Abbey can spare you for that long ... especially since most of us will be asleep soon. These old bones of mine won't last nearly 'til midnight, that I can tell you!"

Vanessa turned to the venerable Abbot. "Arlyn, what is your feeling on all of this? The conflict between Urthblood and Urthfist?"

The old mouse shrugged. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. You summed it up best when you said earlier that we've been told so many contradictory things, we can't make heads or tails of them. But I agree with you wholeheartedly that Redwall must remain neutral."

"Yes, we have no choice in that, until we know more. But I very much doubt Lord Urthfist is going to clear things up for us. His hatred and mistrust of his brother distorts everything he says. And treating us like ignorant simplebeasts on top of it all. Don't you think his attitude toward us has been just a little presumptuous?"

"If so, it must run in the family," Arlyn chuckled. "I seem to recall Urthblood marching into Redwall and taking charge of things in his own superior way."

"At least Urthblood waited for us to invite him to inspect Redwall, instead of storming in here with an army. Even when all those vermin of his showed up, I have to admit that Urthblood was always mindful to respect our ways. Sure, I had my suspicions about him, but Urthblood never rubbed me the wrong way like Urthfist is doing. It's like he knows what's right for everybeast, and anybeast who disagrees with him is either an enemy or hopelessly ignorant. That overbearing manner might work on backward woodlanders, but we're Redwallers. Urthfist goes on and on that he knows what is best for us, without bothering to listen to what we have to say. That doesn't sit well with me. Why, he just assumed we sent away Urthblood's troops to clear the way for us to make an alliance with him! The arrogance of that badger!"

"His attitude is understandable, given what he and his hares think of Urthblood," Arlyn said. "That doesn't mean he's right, or that we have to agree with him. Let's allow him to stay here a few days, and try to convince him to consider a peaceful alternative to war. If he doesn't yield in his stubbornness, then we can at least say that we tried. Then we'll send him on his way, and pray that not too many creatures lose their lives over his pig-headedness."

"And if he decides he doesn't want to leave?" Vanessa asked gravely.

"Then he'll find out he can't push us Redwallers around," Arlyn replied resolutely. "His hares seem like decent creatures. I think, if they see that their master has antagonized us past the point we can tolerate, they will help us convince Urthfist to leave rather than risk a confrontation with us."

"I hope you're right." Vanessa was silent for a moment. "Although, if push really came to shove in such a case, I suppose we could always send to Lord Urthblood for help. Wouldn't that be ironic? Urthfist comes to liberate Redwall, and it turns out that he's the very conquerer we need to be liberated from!"

"Especially if Urthblood really did send this Browder character to Salamandastron so Urthfist would be lured to Mossflower. Well, whether that's what really happened, we can't say Urthblood didn't warn us that his brother might bring trouble to our doorstep. He did leave Machus and the others here to help defend the Abbey. It was our decision to send them away, and our decision to invite Urthfist into Redwall. Whatever comes of it, we must now deal with the situation as best we can."

Vanessa was silent for awhile. At length she said, "I also can't get out of my mind what Geoff discovered in the archives. So much power in one beast ... to obscure this entire period of history with his prophetic vision! Aryln, what if Urthfist is right about Urthblood?"

"What if?" the retired Abbot echoed. "That's all we have, Vanessa. Questions, but no answers. That why you were right to declare that Redwall must not choose sides in this, at least for now. If Urthblood truly is the evil creature Urthfist insists he is, then I'm sure his true nature will be revealed in time. If not, then we must continue to go by what we see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears, and feel in our own hearts. Whatever comes to pass, we must think of Redwall first. The safety of this Abbey comes before all else. We must preserve our cherished way of life for future generations, just as every Abbot and Abbess has always done. Let this be your guidepost, Vanessa. Whenever you are in doubt in the days ahead, simply ask yourself what is best for Redwall in the long run. And if you need further counsel to help you decide what that is," Arlyn set his paw lovingly atop hers, "then you know where to find it, my child."

Vanessa smiled in the darkness. "It has been a long time indeed since you last called me that, Abbot. It is comforting to know that my teacher is still at my side whenever I need him. These days, I often find myself wondering whether I'm still too young and inexperienced to make a proper Abbess. We need the wisdom and resolve of a Germaine or a Saxtus or a Mordalfus during times like these ... "

Arlyn grinned at this mention of some of Redwall's more notable leaders. "Ah, yes, but then, two heads are better than one, no? Perhaps it was meant that there be two of us at the Abbey's helm during this crisis - my old wisdom and your young resolve must surely be a match for any single Abbot or Abbess Redwall has ever had!"

Sudden loud talking from the two nearby hare lookouts drew their attention. The sentries were leaning out over the battlements, and one was pointing down. Vanessa and Arlyn followed the hares' gazes. It was full dark now, with the moon not yet risen high enough to illuminate the woods north of the Abbey. By straining, the two mice could just make out a swarm of shadowy forms dropping from the nearest line of trees and marching toward the north wallgate.

"Our heroes have returned," Arlyn observed with mock solemnity.

"Let's go see how things went with them," Vanessa said, making for the stairs. The two hares ran over and insisted upon accompanying them, javelins at the ready. The four of them met the trio of otters who were guarding the inside of the gate. The burly waterbeasts opened the door and stood back to let the long line of squirrels file in. Elmwood led the way. They all looked quite haggard from their long day's exertions.

Elmwood stood before Vanessa to make his report. The Abbess leaned around him, searching the other squirrel faces. "Where's Alex?"

"Uh, he didn't come back with us," Elmwood said. "He left me in charge of the Forest Patrol."

"Didn't come back with you?" Vanessa's eyes went wide with concern and anger. "You mean he decided to go with Machus and Mina?"

Elmwood nodded.

"And you let him, even after I'd forbidden him to go to Salamandastron?"

The squirrel raised his paws out to his sides in a gesture of helplessness. "Not much I could do, Abbess. He's the head of the Forest Patrol ... or was. He gave me a direct order to take his place. I couldn't very well disobey him, could I?"

"Yes, you very well ... Arlyn, stop smiling like that! This is serious!"

"Ah, um, yes, of course, Vanessa. But no less serious than our dear Alexander's feelings for Lady Mina, it would appear. He's always been a free spirit, you know that. We should have realized this would happen." He laid a paw on Vanessa's shoulder, then looked to Elmwood. "So, since you are the new leader of the Mossflower Patrol, tell us how everything went today."

"Well, we weren't followed ... but I guess you already know that, since they must've stayed here with you." Elmwood's eyes went to the two sentry hares, standing on the grass alongside Vanessa and Arlyn. "Uh, I'd rather not go into details about direction and distance, not here."

The hares looked mildly insulted, but said nothing.

"That's all right, Elmwood," Vanessa prompted. "Just tell us whether everything went according to plan, that will be sufficient."

"By the numbers, ma'am ... except for Alex not coming back. Other than that, we had no problems or unexpected incidents. They're well away from Redwall."

"Good, good." Arlyn put a paw on Elmwood's shoulder. The other squirrels were already gone, wending their weary way into the Abbey and up to their beds, while the otters had secured the gate once more. "You go get some sleep, Elmwood. You've got more responsibilities now - you'll want to keep yourself well-rested. We'll let you know if we need you for anything."

Elmwood nodded and let his tired footsteps lead him away. The two hares returned to the walltop to resume their night watch.

"Well, it's good to have our squirrels back," Arlyn said. "Having them here should make Urthfist think twice if he's got trouble in mind."

"They're all back but one," Vanessa grumbled. "What could have made Alex do such a thing?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," Arlyn chuckled. "It has a beautiful bushy tail and shoots arrows like a demon. I think it must have been love at first sight."

"It was irresponsible," Vanessa insisted. "Now I have both him and Winokur to worry about. It's not fair to me!"

Arlyn put his paw around her shoulders. "Perhaps not. But it's also now completely out of your paws. These friends have gone off to follow their own destinies. We must leave them to it. There's enough going on right here at Redwall to occupy your full attention."

Vanessa sighed. "I guess I don't have any choice. Oh, Arlyn ... when I became Abbess, I never realized things could be so complicated!"

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Night passed into morning, and morning wore on toward the afternoon. Lord Urthfist nibbled absently at some bilberry muffins during breakfast, then climbed up to the west walltop, where he stood gazing out across the plains in the direction of Salamandastron, unseen behind the dim line of mountains on the horizon.

His hares took full advantage of the opportunity to rest up in the idyllic Abbey surroundings. Now that the Mossflower Patrol was back and the last of Urthblood's troops were well away from Redwall, the hares relaxed, knowing the Abbey contained only woodlanders and the walls and gates were properly guarded by Long Patrol. Outwardly, many of them seemed to actually enjoy themselves, chatting with the various Abbeydwellers and entertaining many of the children, most of whom had never seen hares before. While they certainly must have relished the chance to indulge in delicious food and be at ease after so many days of marching and constant battle-readiness, there was a steely hardness in their eyes that they could not entirely hide. They believed twenty of their beloved comrades had met an untimely end, and knew it was most likely that war lay ahead for them.

Shortly before the noontide, Vanessa approached the badger warrior up on the ramparts. "Pardon me if I'm intruding, Lord," she greeted him, for Urthfist did seem quite lost in his own thoughts. "But I just wanted to ask, have you made any decision yet as to whether you will try sending a messenger or scout to Salamandastron? To find out what's really happening there?"

His gaze did not leave the distant, misty mountain range. "I have not decided anything, Abbess. I am truly at a loss, as I have only ever been once before in my life. When I first read my brother's accursed prophecy twenty seasons ago, after he had abandoned us in his mindless flight, I was cast into such uncertainty as I feel now. Back then, it took me most of a season to finally accept the responsibility fate had thrust upon me, and assume Lordship of the Mountain. I have no such luxury of time now. Every day I wait, my brother has that much longer to fortify Salamandastron against me. Even now it may be too late. The counsel you offered me yesterday contained much wisdom. It might indeed be foolhardy to lead my hares into an assault against Salamandastron, when there is little hope of winning it back. But what else can I do? I cannot stay in Mossflower, doing nothing. My soul cries out for action, demands it. But what action? My hares will follow wherever I lead them, but it is my burden to decide where that will be."

"I was not the only one giving wise counsel yesterday," Vanessa said. "Traveller had a good idea too. I think he's right. I think that you should abide here while somebeast goes to Salamandastron to check on the situation there. And I think I know of a creature that could make it there and back in even less time than a hare."

For the first time, Urthfist turned to look at her. "Oh?"

"I just spoke with Highwing, the leader of the Sparra here at Redwall. He thinks one of his better fliers might be able to make it to Salamandastron in a single day. We could know by tomorrow, or the day after, whether things there are as dire as you fear. Surely that is not too long for you to wait?"

Urthfist mulled it over. "How trustworthy are your birds?"

"They are Redwallers," Vanessa said firmly. "The Sparra are friends and allies whom we can trust completely."

"I have no dealings with the feathered species, so I cannot judge one from another. The gulls around Salamandastron are as villainous as any vermin, so I do not associate with them. With sparrows, I have no experience whatsoever. I am sure you would not call them friends if they were not decent, for birds. But could one of them be counted on to make this mission? It must know what to look for, and be able to clearly report these observations back to us."

"Um, well ... " Vanessa considered this. Highwing was the only Sparra well-spoken enough to communicate easily with the beasts of the ground. But she could not ask the leader of the sparrows to undertake such an uncertain endeavor. It was one thing to send Highwing to the nearby reaches of Mossflower right around Redwall, and quite another to dispatch him all the way to the coastlands, and possiby into the middle of a battle. No, if this was to be done at all, it would have to be by one of the other Sparra ... one whose presence would not be sorely missed if misfortune were to overtake it and it never returned to Redwall. As far as making a clear report once it got back, she supposed Highwing could always serve as an interpreter.

"With the proper instruction, I think it would probably work," said Vanessa. "Highwing thought the biggest problem would be flying over the mountains. Sparra do not normally fly that high. There may be tricky winds and downdrafts there. But he seems to think some of his younger and stronger fellows could handle the challenge. If you still want to send a patrol of your hares, that's up to you. But we might send a Sparra either way, just to satify our own curiosity. I just thought you might want to be part of our mission, and give us your ideas on it."

"A sound plan, I suppose ... if it can be made to work. I will have to ... " Urthfist let his words trail off, his attention suddenly drawn to some of his hares farther along the walltop. The lookouts seemed excited by something, and one of them came running over to the badger.

"Somebeasts approaching from the south, sir! Along the main road."

"How many, and what kind?" Urthfist asked.

"Small," the hare replied. "Uh, wot I mean is, they appear t' be small beasts, an' there's only two of 'em. Not enough to kick up any dust, so we didn't spot 'em until they came out from behind the trees, around th' bend in th' road."

"Let us have a look at them, then." Urthfist strode down to the far southwest corner of the walltop, where he would have the clearest view of the newcomers. Vanessa and the hare followed at his heels.

They arrived to find two other hares leaning out over the ramparts, scrutinizing the still-distant travelers with their superb long-range vision.

"Definitely just a pair of 'em," one hare reported to Urthfist. "Appear to be shrews. Not marchin' under any banner. Still can't make out whether they're armed."

"Most of the shrews in Mossflower carry shortswords," Vanessa informed them. "I would be surprised if these aren't."

"Weren't there shrews in that gang of my brother's you sent away from Redwall yesterday?" Urthfist inquired of Vanessa suspiciously.

"They all went north," she replied in a cool tone. "They would not be coming from the south. For that matter, no creature of your brother's would approach us so openly, knowing you and your hares are here."

"Yes ... probably."

"I say," announced another of the hares, "they seem to have some sort o' head decoration. Colored bands ... one's orange, an' one's blue. That mean anything to you, ma'am?"

Vanessa shouldered her way to the battlement's edge for a better look. After a few moments she said, "Yes, as I thought. Those must be two of the Guosim. I wonder what they're doing here?"

"Excuse me, Abbess," Urthfist broke in, "what's a Guosim?"

"Oh. It stands for 'Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower.' They're allies of Redwall. They spend the winters here at the Abbey, and wander far and wide throughout the woodlands during the rest of the year. They usually all travel together, so it's unusual to see just two of them."

"Well, that mystery will be solved soon 'nuff, ma'am," said the first hare, "'cos they're movin' at a bally good jog. Be here b'fore you know it."

"Then let us be there to meet them," Urthfist said. "Abbess, I shall want to hear what they have to say. My brother went south, the same direction from which they are coming. There is a good chance they know something of his movements."

"By all means," Vanessa invited. "The Guosim have never exactly been tight-lipped about their travels and adventures. Come along, and I'm sure you'll soon hear everything they have to tell ... whether you want to or not!"


	28. Chapter 54

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Four

"And so," Flink the shrew concluded, "Log-a-Log bet me I couldn't make it to Redwall in three days. Wasn't about to let my chief show me up, so I took the bet. He sent along Gloor here to keep me honest, and off we went. That was three mornings ago, and we kept at a half-run most of the way. Ha! Two and a half days! I can't wait to see his face when I tell him he's gotta cook me hotcakes every morning this winter!"

The Abbey leaders sat at a table in the orchard with the two shrews, along with Urthfist, Major Safford and Traveller. The telling of their tale had taken the past hour, and the others had sat spellbound as Flink and Gloor related the adventures of the Guosim's pursuit of the slaver foxes, their meeting with Urthblood's army, and how the Badger Lord had helped to get back Log-a-Log's son Pirkko and the rest of the stolen woodlanders.

"A ship that runs underwater," Geoff murmured. "I never would have imagined ... "

"That's just what Log-a-Log thought you'd say," Flink chuckled at the recorder mouse.

"Who among us could have?" Vanessa echoed. "I don't suppose Tratton's been sending such craft up the River Moss as well?"

"That's why we wanted to get word to you soon as we could," Flink said. "Warnokur and Winokur thought the Moss was easily deep 'n' wide enuff t' handle one of these scurvy rat boats. If there's searats within a day's march of Redwall, we gotta be on the lookout for 'em."

"Yes indeed." Vanessa turned to Urthfist. "Lord, it does not sound to me, from what these shrews have told us, as if your brother is allied with Tratton. He captured this vessel and gave it to the Guosim, freed the slaves who were destined for searat galleys, and interrogated then executed the entire crew. Those certainly do not strike me as the actions of a creature who is in the service of evil."

Urthfist all but ignored her comment, turning instead to the two shrews. "You say my brother was still in Mossflower three days ago? You are sure of this?"

"Sure as I'm sittin' here," Flink said.

Urthfist tapped absently against the worn and weathered tabletop with one claw, his gaze seeing far beyond the orchard. "If this is true, then he may not even be at Salamandastron yet ... or he has only just arrived." He turned to Safford. "Major, is there any chance at all, in your estimation, that Colonel Clewiston's force might be able to hold out for a few days before my brother's horde overruns Salamandastron?"

"Wouldn't count the Colonel out, sir. If he sees 'em comin' - and there's no way he couldn't, not a force that size - he might be able t' bottle up the three entrances we left open tight enuff t' keep that rabble from gettin' inside. For a day or two, anyway, tho' he'd be bound to be overwhelmed eventually, without reinforcements."

"My thinking exactly. Do you concur, Traveller?"

The seasoned scout hare nodded. "If anybeast could keep a horde outta Salamandastron with only twenty hares to defend it, ol' Clewiston's the one."

Urthfist stood, a light of decision blazing in his eyes. "Major, assemble the Patrols at once. We are leaving. Now. If there is any hope at all that we may return to Salamandastron before it falls to my brother, we must not waste it. We will be underway before another hour has passed, and we will travel with all haste, not like that leisurely stroll we took coming here. We will run all the way to Salamandastron, if that's what it takes, and then we will see ... " His massive claws clenched and unclenched at his side. "Then we shall see."

"My Lord," said Vanessa, "did you listen carefully to everything that Flink and Gloor had to say?"

"I heard them say that my brother was still far from Salamandastron three days ago, and that is all I need to rekindle hope."

Vanessa regarded Urthfist sternly. "They also spoke of discussions in which Urthblood declared his desire to avoid bloodshed. Surely now you see that there may be room for a peaceful solution?"

"My brother is a master of deception," Urthfist declared, "and more sly than any fox. Of course he would prefer to capture Salamandastron without bloodshed. But he means to capture it one way or the other, and that is what I must try to prevent, if it is not too late."

Flink gave the badger a hard stare. "Yer brother ain't lookin' for a fight, M'Lord. But he ain't about to turn away from one neither."

"You do not know what he is really like," Urthfist spat at the shrew. "If you did, you would not doubt me."

"Well, I saw him capture that searat boat an' take care of its crew," Gloor said in support of Flink. "That puts lie to yer claim that Urthblood's allied with 'em."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," said Urthfist. "My brother makes and breaks alliances as it suits him. Perhaps he saw a greater advantage to win the allegiance of the Guosim than to favor the searats in this matter. Perhaps his alliance with Tratton fell by the wayside some time ago when it no longer suited his purposes. Who can say? It may even be that he left this new craft with the shrews because he wants it for himself, and will return to take it back from them once he has Salamandastron firmly under his control. My brother acts only for himself, to increase his own power. The beasts that call him friend today may tomorrow come to curse the day that their paths crossed his."

"Yeah, well, he had his doubts about you, too," Flink wrinkled his nose. "He sounded willing to share power, but only if he thought you was still fit to help him rule ... "

"Do not speak to me about my fitness to rule!" Urthfist exploded at the shrew. "The Lordship of Salamandastron is a great responsibility, not some prize to be won by unworthy creatures. My brother abandoned that responsibility and showed his unworthiness twenty seasons ago, and has proven it many time since in the Northlands. His own prophecy names him as the monster that he is, and the only creatures that follow him are either evil or else misguided beasts who have been taken in by his lies ... as you seem to have been."

"We Guosim ain't very easily duped," Flink protested. "We spent two days with Urthblood. If he's an evil beast, he hid it mighty well."

"Two days, eh?" Traveller stroked casually at one doubled-over ear. "Try trackin' him for twenty seasons, chap. Your opinion of His Bloodiness might drop a notch or three, once you see wot he's really like."

"We are wasting time here. Major, see to the Patrols. Have them assemble immediately in the road outside the main gate, ready to march."

"Yessir!" Safford saluted and was off like a shot to relay his master's orders.

Traveller looked to Urthfist. "Should I go help him, M'Lord?"

"Hold a moment. I require your counsel. You are more widely travelled than any other hare in the Patrols. We must march now with the utmost haste, to arrive at Salamandastron at the earliest possible moment. What route must we take that will get us there the fastest?"

"The way we came, I guess," Traveller replied.

"There is no chance the north might not be quicker? I was thinking of the rivers we must cross."

"That's a point, sir. But ... no, even with no streams in our path, north would still be the long way around the mountains to the coast. And remember, that gang we chased out of here went north. They could have an ambush set up, one we'd be more likely to blunder into if we're movin' at a run. Also, there's no sayin' your brother might not have more o' his reinforcements comin' down from the Northlands. If so, we could run right smack into 'em, an' that'd slow us down, sure enuff."

Urthfist nodded. "So it's south for us. Which still leaves a broadstream to cross. We know now that there is a bridge along this main road to the south which would allow us an easy crossing. Do we avail ourselves of it, or will that take us too far out of our way?"

"Hmm ... would be a bit of a detour, but then again, it would provide us with a sure crossin'. If we set out across the Plains on a more direct southwest course, we'll hafta scout 'round for a ferry, an' that could delay us even more."

"I don't think so," said Urthfist. "Remember, when we were done with that insolent boatshrew Fitkin, we left his ferry on the north shore. We have only to retrace our steps, and that way across the river will be waiting for us when we get there."

"Unless that little ball o' bad manners has brought it back to his side again," Traveller cautioned.

"Fitkin did not strike me as the sort of creature who would swim that broadstream, not even to get his boat back. Besides, we left him sealed in his hovel. He may not even have dug himself out yet."

"Good points, M'Lord. Guess we can count on that way across after all ... in which case I'd say that'd be the fastest way back home."

Vanessa stood, and her fellow Redwallers stood with her. "My Lord, I can see you are determined in this. Before you leave, I would implore you once more to avoid open war with your brother if you possibly can. These shrews have brought us news to suggest the searats are more powerful than they've ever been, and are building new types of weapons that can carry their terror to lands that had always been safe from them before. Surely now, of all times, you and Urthblood should be working together to face this threat, instead of going to war with each other. Please bear this in mind when you approach Salamandastron. If the two of you can put aside any conflict between you for the greater sake and safety of the lands, you must."

Urthfist snorted. "It would not surprise me if my brother helped Tratton to build these underwater ships."

Flink and Gloor bristled with defiance. "Urthblood was as surprised as anybeast when we discovered that craft!" Gloor argued. "I know; I was there!"

"Oh? Then do tell: how did he know to look for such a hidden craft in the first place?"

"Er, uh ... he said he heard rumors that Tratton was workin' on such a thing, 'tho he'd not before had proof of it."

"Really? And how did such rumors reach him? My hares and I dwell along the shores, where the searat threat is greatest. News of their actions and movements reaches us before anybeast else, and we have heard not one word of such things." Urthfist shook his head with certainty. "No, Tratton is not the worst threat these lands face. I must go now to confront the true enemy of all creatures who would remain free, in their minds as well as from the iron chains of slavery."

Vanessa sighed, deeply and sadly, as the badger started to turn away. "One thing more, Lord."

Urthfist looked to her with growing impatience. "Speak quickly, Abbess, for my time grows short and soon I will be gone." Already many hares of the Patrols could be seen crossing the lawns to the main gates in response to Safford's call to assembly.

"I was just going to ask whether you would like us to supply you with any food or drink for your journey ahead? Your supplies must be low, and I did promise to help in any way I could when the time came for you to leave Redwall. I still stand by that offer, if you care for our assistance."

Urthfist showed no chagrin at his brusque manner toward the mouse who was extending him the hospitality of the Abbey. Traveller leaned over to him and murmured, "Wouldn't be a bad idea, M'Lord. If we're gonna be on th' run all the way to Salamandastron, we won't have time to forage fer scoff. Better t' load up here while we can."

The Badger Lord mulled it over for a moment. "As long as it does not delay us too much," he pronounced at last.

"You say you wish to be on your way before another hour passes," said Vanessa. "We should be able to meet that schedule. Don't expect any fresh-baked items, but we should have enough in our larders to fill every one of your hares' travel sacks. And it will be food better suited to a journey of several days. I'll go get Friar Hugh on it right away." She looked to Urthfist. "If this meets your approval, Lord."

Urthfist gave only a grudging nod. "Traveller, call all the hares back inside and have them fill their canteens in the Abbey pond. Then we'll see what these folk have for our haversacks."

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Candied chestnuts. Acorn honey crunch. Bricks and wedges of cheddar, white sage cheese and red beechnut and rosemary cheese. Almond wafers. Mint wafers. Crystallized apple slices. Carrot chews (and more carrot chews). Blackberry and bilberry muffins.

All this and more was carefully packed into the travel sacks of the Long Patrol. It was amazing what could be turned out of Redwall's larders on such short notice. In even less time than the hour that Urthfist had given them, the Abbeyfolk outfitted his hares with enough food to last for several days, and all of it suitable for beasts on the march. Major Safford was most appreciative for the quality and quantity of the offerings and for the swiftness with which the Redwallers produced it. He and Traveller made sure every hare filled its sack, and thanked the Abbess profusely for the supplies even as Urthfist paced back and forth by the main gate, impatient to be underway.

At last every canteen was topped off and every haversack near full to bursting, and the Long Patrol were assembled in a long, southward-facing column in the road outside the Abbey. Urthfist took his place with Traveller and Major Safford at the head of the marchers. The Badger Lord's attention was focused solely upon the return to Salamandastron; so single-minded was he in his purpose that he did not even wave, salute or so much as glance back toward the woodlanders who'd opened their home to him and helped get his army on its way.

The main gate was closed and locked as soon as the last hare had exited the Abbey, and the Redwallers looked on from the walltop in almost total silence as the force from Salamandastron departed for their home once more. It was a very different mood from the send-off given to Machus and Mina the previous day. There was no feeling now that this was a farewell between friends. Rather, Redwall was getting rid of an unpredictable occupation force. As long as Urthfist had stayed at the Abbey, there was a sense of uncertainty about what he might do next, and whether it was safe to have such a beast around. The Redwallers were relieved to finally have him out of their midst, even if the cost of his departure might be all-out war over the Lordship of Salamandastron.

"They're moving at a right good clip," Monty observed. "But I thought they planned on cuttin' straight 'cross the Plains back th' way they came?"

"They are," Vanessa replied. "They came out on the road by the ruins of old St. Ninian's originally, so they're going to follow the path south to that point and then turn onto the Plains. Their forward scouts will literally track backward to keep them to the exact route they took from Salamandastron. Urthfist is leaving nothing to chance, and thinks they can make the best time that way."

"I'm just glad he's gone," said Brother Geoff. "I was worried about what we'd do if he refused to leave. At least now that problem has taken care of itself, before it became an issue."

"Yes," Vanessa nodded. "And now, thanks to our fleet-footed shrew friends here, we know that Winokur and Warnokur are fine ... or at least they were when Flink and Gloor left them three days ago. With Lord Urthfist and his hares here, I doubt they got held up by anything else. They could even be at Salamandastron by now."

Old Arlyn stroked his whiskers as he stood with the others, watching the retreating backs of the badger warrior and his fourscore hares. "That they could be, Vanessa. The question is, if they are, is Winokur now presiding over a battle for the mountain, as Urthfist was sure would happen?"

"Wouldn't be much of a battle," Geoff offered. "Twenty hares against that horde of Urthblood's ... and Urthblood is familiar with that stronghold inside and out. I don't think those hares would be able to hold out very long against odds like that, no matter how well defended the entrances are."

"I hope Urthblood does take over Salamandastron," Flink said sourly. "He belongs in charge o' the place. He's got what it takes t' protect th' coastlands from the searats. Can't say I trust Urthfist t'all. He's so obsessed with his brother, I think he may truly be demented, as Urthblood feared. Wouldn't want anybeast like that in charge o' guardin' the lands from this Tratton. An' I don't know 'bout his hares, neither."

Maura leaned against the battlements just down from the shrews. "Actually, Flink, a few of the children were growing quite enamored of those hares before they had to leave so suddenly. I find that whenever things get confusing, sometimes the first impressions of our little ones are a good signpost to go by. They would never have liked those hares if they weren't worth liking."

"They did seem to be decent sorts," Geoff admitted, "once they got settled in and saw there were no enemies here. Still, I got the feeling they would follow Urthfist anywhere, even to the detriment of the rest of us."

Flink scratched at the side of his nose. "Yeah, well, if'n Urthfist thinks his brother's a pushover, he's in fer a rude awakening. Urthblood's rats fought like demons against that troublemaker Snoga, and the otter cap'n Saybrook assured us those rats ain't th' best of Urthblood's fighters by any stretch. If those two badgers are bound to clash, I think Urthfist is buying 'imself a battle he won't walk away from ... not even with fourscore hares at his side."

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Of all the creatures at Redwall, it was the Abbey's newest resident who breathed the biggest sigh of relief when the last hares in the column turned the bend in the road and disappeared behind the trees.

Smallert stood away from the Abbey leaders on another part of the west walltop. Cyril and Cyrus were at his side, where they'd sworn to stay until the weasel was no longer in any danger from Urthfist. Cyrus had traded in his sickbed gown for a new novice's habit and sandals. The donning of his usual garb was an important symbol to the young mouse, his way of announcing to the world (and to himself) that he'd licked his injuries, beaten back death and was at last ready to rejoin the normal life of Redwall. Sister Aurelia had also granted her patient permission to sleep in his own room tonight - another important step in the recovery of both his body and spirit. The healer recognized that the sooner Cyrus could get back to his regular routine, the quicker he'd be able to put this whole frightful incident behind him.

It was also encouraging that Cyrus - and Cyril too - had bonded so immediately with the creature who was partly to blame for this disruption in their young lives. Neither showed the slightest fear around Smallert. Indeed, now that they knew he was much closer in age to them than they'd first assumed, the two mouse brothers had practically adopted the one-eared weasel as a newfound companion - the first Redwallers to do so.

Smallert supported Cyrus with a paw against the mouse's back as they stood watching Urthfist's retreat; the weasel may only have been a few season older than Cyril, but he was far bigger and stronger than either of the mice would ever be.

"Oh, brother, is that a sight fer this weasel's eyes!" he said. "A real weight off the ol' shoulders. Didn't know what I was gonna do if that brute ever got me in 'is reach. Woulda been my end, I jus' knows it. I thought I might've hadta stay hid up in the 'firmary fer th' rest o' this season. Glad he decided t' make it a short visit. Now I can get about the business o' becomin' a true Redwaller!"

Cyril turned to look up at Smallert. "So, have you given any more thought to what job you might take here?"

"Well," Smallert scratched absently around his missing ear, "I think Sister Aurelia had a right fine idea when we was talkin' to her this mornin'. Since I'm not sure what I'd be good at 'round here, I'll jus' help out around the Abbey as I'm needed 'til I find a chore what suits me best. An' if I don't, then I guess I'll jus' become Redwall's resident handybeast, ready t' lend a paw in anything that needs doin'."

"But, you're a trained soldier," Cyril said, surprised that Smallert was overlooking the obvious. "Why not ask the Abbess to make you one of the Abbey defenders?"

Smallert shook his head. "'Fraid my soldierin' days is done, lad. I never wanna cause harm to another beast ever again, if I c'n help it. I'm dedercatin' the rest o' me days to bein' a peace-lovin' goodbeast, so's you folk never have no cause t' say, 'Why'd we ever let that no-good weasel come stay here?'"

"Oh, we'd never say that about you, Smallert," Cyrus assured him.

"Well, it's up t' me t' make sure you never have reason to. That's my main job from now on; chores'll jus' be somethin' to keep me busy an' outta trouble. I'll be happy t' do whatever anybeast here tells me to. All o' those seasons with Lord Urthblood, one thing I'm good at's followin' orders."

Cyrus gave a guilty pout. "You don't hafta give up your sword just 'cos of what happened to me, Smallert. If that's what you're good at ... "

"I weren't never good with swords," Smallert smiled sadly at Cyrus. "Not my weapon o' choice. Why, if'n I were halfway-skilled with a blade, I prob'ly coulda held my swing when Wolfrum used you as a shield. Only reason I slashed you was 'cos I'm a clumsy oaf with a sword in my paw."

"Then what did you use when you fought battles in the north?" Cyril asked.

"Usually just a spear or javelin," Smallert replied. "Got purty good at it, too. But my real experteese was in paw-to-paw combat. I'm somethin' of a champeen wrestler - one o' the best in Lord Urthblood's service. More'n once, when a foebeast knocked me spear outta my paws an' took me fer an easy kill, why I'd twist 'n' turn 'n' grapple with 'em until I got their weapon away from 'em. They'd go to their graves with such a look of surprise on their faces ... um, this ain't nice talkin' 'bout, so I'll stop now. Hope I didn't trouble you two none with such talk, did I?"

"No, no, I was enjoying it," Cyril said quickly, actually somewhat disappointed that Smallert had stopped so abruptly. "I like stories about battles and adventures. Promise me you'll tell me some of yours someday."

"Well, if ye're sure, Cyril lad. I ain't th' world's greatest storyteller, but I seen some things in my days. I'll try me paw at spinnin' you some yarns someday, if you don't mind hearin' stuff that most decent folk perfer not t' hear. Battles ain't no place fer peaceable woodlanders like you Redwall lot."

"You'd be surprised," Cyril told him. "Many of Redwall's past champions were great warriors in battle. Why, I've even thought about becoming a warrior myself, if I can get the Abbess and Maura to take me seriously and stop thinking of me as just the Abbey bellringer."

"One of the Abbey bellringers," Cyrus corrected his brother. "Now that Mr. Geoff doesn't need me to help him in the archives anymore, I guess we'll be getting back to it soon, eh, Cyr?"

"Guess so ... hey, I just thought of something!" Cyril looked up at Smallert. "If I do start training as a warrior, or maybe as a healer, we'll need a new bellringer. I'm sure Maura won't wanna do it permanently. How'd you like to try your paw at it, Smallert?"

"I dunno. I got no experience with bells 'n' such ... "

"It's easy! Maura got pretty good at it after just one day. Me 'n' Cy can show you the ropes ... you'll get the hang of it in no time, I'm sure you will."

"Well, sure, I'll give it a try," Smallert finally agreed. "Gotta find some way to earn me keep around here. Yankin' ropes can't be as hard as soliderin'. Lead the way, buckos!"


	29. Chapter 55

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Five

Winokur had never seen or even imagined anything so vast as the ocean.

Urthblood's army had spent the last day rounding the foothills at the southernmost limit of the mountain range that separated the Western Plains from the coastlands. Their course took them up and over many rises; the inclines here were slight enough that they barely slowed the marchers, and the procession made good time over hill and dale. The evening after their encounter with Fitkin the ferry shrew had seen them draw abreast of the mountains that reared to the north on their right. Now another half day's travel had put those peaks clearly behind them, and, cresting one last grassy ridge, the long rolling slopes down to the sandy coastlands and then to the sea lay open before them.

The slight elevation of their position gave them a panoramic vista. Miles of flat, unbroken coastal plain stretched away in every direction, and straight ahead on the horizon shimmered the sunlit waters of the open sea, a band of gleaming silver between the end of the land and the end of the world where sea and sky merged into one.

Winokur scanned to his left, then to his right. North and south, the edge of the sea extended to the limits of his vision. Nothing he had ever seen in his life - not the expanses of the Western Plains, or the vastness of Mossflower Woods - could compare to the enormity of this. The young otter suddenly realized that the world truly was split into two parts, land and sea. But whereas the lands were broken into regions of forest and plains, mountains and valleys, rivers and creeks, the sea was all one: big as all the lands put together, but all water, covering such huge areas that boats could sail for days without sight of dry land.

The idea of something so big scared Winokur a little. He was a woodlands otter, raised at Redwall, accustomed to the Abbey pond and occasional forays to the River Moss. Coming face to face with the sea was very different from hearing stories about it. Very different indeed.

Captain Saybrook noticed the peculiar expression on Winokur's face. "You awright, Wink laddie?"

Winokur shook himself out of it and grinned. "Just a bit dazzled by the view. Takes some getting used to, after seeing nothing but forest and grasslands this whole march. Just how far are we from the sea now? In one sense it looks almost close enough to reach out and touch, but in my head I know it must still be a long way off."

Urthblood answered. "We would have to march due west until sundown to reach the shoreline."

"That far?" Warnokur declared. "These coastlands're a lot roomier than I'd reckoned."

"Yes, it is a large territory to cover," Urthblood agreed. "That is why the hares of the Long Patrol have always been so important to the Lords of Salamandastron. No other creatures could cover such distances as completely as they do."

Waronkur gazed northward, raising himself up on the tips of his flipper footpaws. "Can we spy that mountain from 'ere, M'Lord?"

Urthblood narrowed his eyes in the direction of Warnokur's gaze. "No ... the horizon still hides it. If we were somewhat higher in these foothills, we might just be able to see its flat top. But not here."

Some of Urthblood's tracker weasels had scouted ahead, following the tracks of Urthfist and his hares from when they had passed this way in the other direction a few days earlier. Ever since their encounter with Fitkin, the signs of Urthfist's passage had been very obvious, and they'd used the marked trail as a signpost showing the most direct route to Salamandastron. Now the weasels came hurrying back to report their latest findings.

"Just ahead, down the slope a bit, the tracks turn north, M'Lord," the senior tracker said. "We'll be runnin' parallel to th' mountains from now on ... um, assumin' we're still gonna follow their trail, sir."

"We will. For awhile yet, anyway." Urthblood turned to Saybrook. "We'll proceed to the point where the tracks veer north, then stop for midday meal and rest break."

As the column pushed forward with renewed purpose, Saybrook glanced aside at the two Redwall otters. "Ah, look at it, will you! The summer sea! Ain't nothin' like it. Can't hardly wait t' waggle me flippers offshore ... s'pose it'll hafta wait 'til we get to Salamandastron, tho'. Hey, either of you riverdogs ever been fer a paddle in the main?"

"Uh, no," Warnokur replied, while his son merely shook his head, daunted anew by the idea of immersing himself in those boundless waters. "You mean, actually go swimmin' in that thing?"

"Why, shore! I'm no sea otter m'self, those old salts're the true masters of ocean swimmin', but I been to the sea a couple o' times, an' lemme tell you, there ain't naught else like it! A soul can get lost down there ... no matter how deep you dive, there's always further down you can go, an' no matter how far you swim, there's always still more ahead."

Winokur blanched. "Lost is right. I like the water as much as any otter, but it sounds like too much for me ... "

"Oh, but it's freedom!" Saybrook swept his paw grandly before him. "The most you'll ever know. Ain't any river or lake anywheres compares. You can swim fer as long as you like, with no barriers sayin' you gotta stop. When you get tired, you just head back to shore. Or, you can just lie on yer back an' stare at the sky, if it's calm enough. That's another great thing about the sea: the salt in the water gives you extra bouyancy - more'n you'll get in any freshwater puddle or trickle. Practically like a soft, bobbin' couch. Why, I even fell asleep once, floatin' on me back offshore. By th' time I woke up, I'd drifted so far south of our beach camp that I had quite a swim just to get back to it. Didn't mind, tho' - I was well 'nuff rested fer it, harr harr!"

"Yes, well, perhaps I'll give it a try," Winokur said without much enthusiasm. "Once we get where we're going ... "

"Oh, you'll have a blast, I guarantee it!" Saybrook assured him. "If ye're not comfortable 'bout goin' out alone, I'll tag along at yer side. But I promise you, once ye're out there, you'll feel like you've found home! An' this is the best time o' year fer it, too. Late summer's when the sea gets warmest. You'll love it, Wink lad, or I don't know me otters!"

"Well ... we'll see." Winokur looked to his father. "What do you say, Dad? Up for a swim where the water never ends?"

"Um ... course I am!" Warnokur pounded his son on the back. "We both are, ain't we? It'll be th' best flippin' adventure I've had in seasons! An' I'll finally be able to show you the meanin' of real swimmin'! Right, Cap'n?"

"That's the spirit, Warny mate!" Saybrook laughed.

Little did any of them know, their opportunity for an ocean swim would come much sooner than they would have guessed.

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While his army took its meal break under the unblinking midday sun, Urthblood went off alone to have another conference with his eyes in the sky.

Klystra the falcon and Halpryn the kite were both there. Urthblood talked with them a long time, at one point even drawing pictures in the sandy dirt with a stick. When the conference was over, the Badger Lord removed the heavy protective tunics from both birds, and the two raptors took flight and winged their way north.

"What word, M'Lord?" Saybrook inquired when Urthblood rejoined his troops, curiously eyeing the avian garments in his master's paws.

"Captains Halpryn and Klystra will fly ahead to make a survelliance of the land around Salamandastron. They will observe the mountain as closely as they can, and may even be able to tell us how the entrances are guarded. This will help us plan our approach."

"How long you reckon 'til we reach it?" Warnokur queried.

"That will depend on what my birds report, and what course we follow then."

Saybrook stared after the retreating scoutbirds, now mere specks in the distant sky, then back at the birds' armor that Urthblood was holding. "If y' don't mind me askin', M'Lord, why'd you send 'em off without their vests? Seems t' me they might need those."

"If the Long Patrol spotted birds wearing protective garments of any kind, those hares would rightly assume that they are in my service, and would be alerted that I am near. Now, Halpryn and Klystra may pass for wild birds, not allied with any army."

Warnokur looked to his son. "See, Wink? It's like I told you back in Mossflower - Lord Urthblood thinks of ev'rything!"

When the lunch break was over, they resumed their march along the trail made by Urthfist and the Long Patrol, following the tracks north across sandy seaward-sloped plains dotted by clumps of coarse grass and broken by the occasional rising dune. The path veered gradually westward as it went north, taking the marchers away from the mountains on their right and toward the ocean on their left. Soon they were almost perfectly centered along the coastal plain, halfway between the mountain foothills and the shoreline. The distant shushing sound of gentle breakers could now be faintly heard, a continuous curtain of background noise punctuated by the intermittent plaintive cries of seagulls wheeling against the blue sky overhead, and the air smelled heavily of brine. Even a blind beast would have been able to tell they were now near the gates of the open sea.

Mid-afternoon brought them to the banks of a wide and lazily-flowing river that ran directly across their path. The rippling broadstream emerged from some unseen source away in the foothills, snaking its way across the wide coastland to where it eventually poured itself into the sea.

Warnokur scratched at his chin, saying to Urthblood, "Looks like you were right, M'Lord. This must be the other half o' that stream spanned by Lorr's Bridge back in Mossflower, the one that drops under the mountains then comes back out on this side. Not much left of it by the time it gets this far ... hardly looks deep enuff fer dippin' a flipper, much less a proper swim."

"Which is fortunate," the badger replied, "since we will now have to cross it again, this time without benefit of bridge or boat." Urthblood gazed northward, to where the wide band of coastland dwindled into the shimmery distance. "This stream is not visible from Salamandastron, so we are still safe from discovery. Once we have crossed to the other side, however, we may give ourselves away at any time. From the top of the mountain a sharp-eyed hare can see very far along the shores indeed."

"So, whatta we do now, M'Lord?" Saybrook asked.

Urthblood pointed at the stream. "This should still be fresh water, even this close to the sea. Please verify this, Captain."

Saybrook went over to the stream's edge and scooped up a pawful of the water, testing it with his tongue. "Bit of a mineral tang to it, M'Lord. Prob'ly picked up from goin' under the mountains. But I'd still call it fresh."

"Suitable for topped off our drinking supplies?"

"I'd reckon so. Guess it's the last fresh water 'tween here an' Salamandastron that we'll come across, huh?"

Urthblood nodded. "I want everybeast to refill its canteen, and then we will see about getting across this stream. We have marched hard, under the hot sun across unshaded terrain. No sense in dirtying the water with our own filth before we've taken what we need for our thirst."

"Aye, makes sense." Saybrook regarded the watercourse. "Looks like it's pretty shallow all the way across. Warny's right: this river's sure lost its punch since Mossflower."

"I assure you, Captain, it is still deep enough in the middle to drown a mouse or a mole. The smaller beasts will need assistance in making the crossing. Once all the drinking pouches are replenished, I want you and Mattoon to line up all the otters, weasels, stoats and ferrets along the shore. We'll pair each one with a mouse, mole, shrew or hedgehog that they can ferry across on their shoulders. The shrews you should be able to take two at a time, so you otters might want to see to them first. I want to have everybeast on the north bank by sundown. Then we'll set up camp there for the night."

"Right. But, uh ... "

"Yes, Captain?"

"Are you sure you wanna set camp soon as we're across? Strikes me you'd wanna keep us marchin', so's we can approach Salamandastron under cover o' dark. You said we could be seen at any time once we're past this stream."

"That is true. But before we can consider proceeding, we must wait to hear from Halpryn and Klystra. We must know what awaits us at Salamandastron."

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Saybrook's otters were able to get all the shrews across in one trip, while the mice, moles, hedgehogs and a few of the shorter rats paired up with weasels, ferrets and stoats on whose shoulders they would be able to ride. Most of the shrews and otters came from the Broadstream region south of Noonvale, and were accustomed to working together; the otters were on their way back to the south shore before any of the others had started the crossing.

Even Winokur lent himself to the endeavor. Removing his habit so that it wouldn't get wet unnecessarily, he rolled up the revered garment and gave it to his shrew passenger to hold up out of the water, then waded across with the rodent straddling his neck. The deepest part of the stream came up to Winokur's chin, and he had to tip his head back to keep from getting a noseful of water.

When he saw that all the otters, having delivered the entire shrew brigade to the north bank, were heading back to help ferry others, Wink volunteered too. It felt good to be able to swim on the return trip, rather than balancing on tippaws with a creature perched on his shoulders.

He emerged, along with Saybrook and Warnokur, directly in front of the spot where Abellon's mouse brigade was matching itself up with a squad of Mattoon's weasels. When he saw the otters rising from the stream, the mouse captain yelled out, "Dibs on Saybrook!"

"Why, shore, matey," the otter beamed at his old mouse friend, "these shoulders're good fer givin' you a ride whenever you need it!"

Winokur and Warnokur looked around to see what mice might ask them for a lift. Wink's eye went to the chained duo of Jans and Broggen, who already stood at the water's edge, away from the competition for rides. The young otter had grown fond of the mouse and stoat while they'd been at Redwall, but he'd barely seen them at all during this journey, since the mouse platoon marched about two-thirds of the way back in the column and Winokur had been marching at the head of it with Urthblood. He and his father strolled over to them.

"Guess you won't be worryin' 'bout catchin' a ride, eh, Jansy mate?" Warnokur grinned.

"Nope," the mouse laughed back, "times like these, havin' this oaf chained to me comes in handy." Jans slapped Broggen playfully on the back. "C'mon, Broggs, you know the drill."

"Righto, Jansy," the stoat nodded agreeably, and lowered himself to his knees, holding his right paw up to ear level so that his companion would have some slack in the chain that linked them. With an agility that came from seasons of practice, Jans hopped adroitly up onto Broggen's shoulders, not the least bit encumbered by the fact that they were manacled together. It was just another illustration of how mouse and stoat had trained themselves to work together like a single creature.

"Nice," Warnokur said admiringly, then had his attention diverted by another mouse soldier tugging at his tail in request of a ride.

"Hey, mind if I catch a crossing with you, friend?" The mouse threw a glance over his shoulder toward the weasels, and added in a low voice, "I want a clean beast to ride."

"Reckon we'll all of us be clean beasts by the time we reach the other side," Jans joked, then patted Broggen on the beret. "Onward, my good steed! There's a stream to be crossed, a stoat to be washed, and time's a-wastin'!"

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Urthfist had fortified Salamandastron to withstand an assault from a mighty horde, going so far as to seal the main entrance to the mountain with a thick wall of rocks and boulders fused tightly together by a mortar of limestone cement. This wall stood concealed behind the giant wooden gates that had for generations protected the fortress's primary egress. Any foe thinking to breach them with a mere battering ram would be in for a rude surprise.

In fact, only three of Salamandastron's many entrances had been left unblocked, and those were guarded day and night by the score of Long Patrol hares who remained in charge of the mountain. The stairway that let out onto the flat bowl of the mountaintop was the most easily defended opening; an enemy would have to gain the summit and then fight its way down a steep flight of steps that the hare defenders could grease up at a moment's notice, and then along a narrow passage where any intruder would be an easy target for Long Patrol slingstones and arrows.

For now, this way gave the lookout hares easy access to the mountaintop, from where an enemy horde could be spotted while it was still a day or more away.

Colonel Clewiston spent a good portion of each day up here, scanning the horizons to the north and south, the mountains and foothills to the east, and the sea to the west. He knew that if Urthblood came, it would undoubtedly be along the coast from one direction or the other, but there was also Tratton to worry about. Searat sails had not been in evidence since Lord Urthfist's departure, but that could easily change at any moment, and a fleet of sea vessels could be upon them with far less warning than a horde travelling on foot.

The seasoned veteran hare held out a childlike hope in his heart every time he came up to the roof of Salamandastron, the hope that one day soon he would spy Lord Urthfist and all fourscore of the Long Patrol who'd gone with him tramping their way back toward the mountain, safe and sound and every one present and accounted for. Clewiston knew he was being childish, that he ought not to even be wishing for such a thing. For if Urthfist and his force returned without casualties, that could only mean they had not seen battle, and that seemed impossible. Either the goodbeasts of Mossflower were truly being terrorized by Urthblood, or else Urthfist had been lured out for some reason. Either way, it looked highly unlikely that things would ever be completely all right again.

On this afternoon, Clewiston stood with his Lieutenant, Gallatin, and the other two hares of Gallatin's Patrol group. The Lieutenant was currently second-in-command at Salamandastron under Clewiston, and his field trio had drawn the day's mountaintop lookout duty. This left the plateau watch in very capable paws ... but it wasn't enough to keep the Colonel from coming up to lend his own eyes to the lookout.

Gallatin gazed eastward. "I say, Colonel, looks like we might have a spot of rain comin' before nightfall."

"P'raps, Galt. Tho', those clouds look a mite thin. Might not be any water in 'em - not enough to drop, anyway."

"Wouldn't mind it m'self. Hasn't rained a drop since 'is Lordship left us, an' the gardens're gettin' a bit withery, wot?"

Clewiston smiled to himself. Gallatin was a born gardener, a beast who could coax crops to grow out of sand and rock. The Colonel had ordered him to cut back on the watering of the gardens, since they might need more drinking supplies than Salamandastron's interior spring could provide, if they had to wait out a prolonged siege. Right now, the runoff was being funnelled into water barrels so they'd have plenty on paw, and that left less for the gardens. He'd hesitated to remind Gallatin that his beloved gardens would be uprooted, plundered and trampled flat by any invading horde anyway, but that was hardly the kind of thing to keep up morale, so he'd let Gallatin keep watering the crops just a little. After all, if he could nurse his secret hope for Lord Urthfist's safe return, who was he to deny another hare's hope in matters that lifted the spirits?

The cries of gulls overhead made both hares look up. Gallatin started to say, "Pesky featherbottoms, those ... egads, wot's that?"

The reason for the seagulls' sudden discordant squawking was now apparent. A much larger bird was diving through their flock like a brown thunderbolt, scattering the seabirds as if they were fledgelings only just learning to fly. It looked to the hares as if some of the gulls, responding with their typical hostility toward other creatures, were trying to rally a counterattack against their antagonizer by ganging up on it in numbers. But the falcon was massive and powerful, and performed midair moves so unexpectedly adroit for a bird of its size that it only left the gull flock in even greater chaos. For its part it seemed wholly unconcerned by the smaller birds, plowing through them with detachment as if they were a minor nuisance, hardly worth ruffling a feather about. No beak or talon ever touched the mighty skyhunter as it dropped out of sight below the rim of the plateau.

"Blimy!" Gallatin exclaimed. "That's an air show like I've never seen!"

Clewiston shook his head in disbelief. "That was a bally falcon, unless I'm mightily mistaken. Don't get those types 'round here too much - usually those no-good gull rotters drive away all other birdfolk."

"Didn't have much luck keepin' this one away," Gallatin laughed. "Showed those blighters wot's wot, an' good fer it, I say! Never could stand 'em myself, always harassin' our Patrols, an' raidin' our trees 'n' gardens fer free scoff that we work hard to grow. Hope that falcon chappie get a chance to knock 'em about some more 'fore it gets on its way."

"Wonder wot it was doin' here?" Clewiston muttered, ambling over to the crater's edge below which the falcon had vanished. "Sure as summer salads wasn't injured, not the way it was flyin'. Insane, mebbe, but not hurt." He scanned the north face of the mountain below him, but there was no sign of the falcon. It had disappeared without a trace.

A fifth hare popped its head up from the stairwell leading down into the mountain. "Colonel! Something down here you oughtta see, sir!"

"Oh, hullo, Melanie gel! Wot's the bother?"

"There's some big bird out in the gardens, gobblin' up every blinkin' berry in sight! Makin' enough of a glutton of itself to put a hare to shame!"

Gallatin went white. "My gardens!"

"Yes, we just saw it ourselves, Mel," said Clewiston. "Big brown falcon, swooped right past us a moment ago."

Melanie frowned. "Don't think so, sir. This one's red, an' I'm pretty sure it's a kite. An' it took me a fair piece to run up here to tell you about it, so I don't think we're talkin' about the same bird."

"Wot in the name of Finagle's goin' on here?" Clewiston did a quick full-circle scan of the countryside; there was no sign of any enemy, or of any other large birds, so this couldn't be an attack. Could it?

"Right!" he said decisively. "All hares, down to the gardens! We'll get this sorted out right 'n' proper!"

Gallatin was already pushing past Melanie in his haste to rush to the rescue of his beloved gardens. Melanie followed, with Clewiston and the other two hot on their heels, leaving the mountaintop momentarily deserted.

Even as their echoing voices receded down the passage into the heart of the mountain, a brown-feathered head stuck itself down from the sunlit plateau above. It took a good long look at the stairs and the narrow corridor beyond. Then, seemingly satisfied, it clacked its curved beak and withdrew.

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By the time Clewiston and the others had raced down through the mountain to arrive on the scene, the brown falcon had joined the red kite in the raid upon Salamandastron's outdoor food supplies.

Gallatin's horrified gaze went from the plum tree in whose branches the falcon perched, devouring the purple summer-ripened fruits in rapid succession, to the berry patch, where the kite had already picked clean a bilberry bush and was now starting in on a heavily-laden raspberry plant.

"Yikes! Now there's two of the blinkin' thieves!" The Lieutenant ran from the tunnel opening in the side of the mountain, frantically waving his paws at the two birds of prey. "Out! Shoo! G'way!"

Melanie's daughters Givadon and Mizagelle, who'd been guarding this entrance along with their mother, stood by with their bow and sling dangling from uncertain paws. They'd been on the lookout for enemy vermin; the surprise arrival of first one giant bird and then another had caught them quite off guard, and they'd had no idea how they ought to respond to the situation. Neither had Melanie, which was why the seasoned Patrol leader had run up to alert Colonel Clewiston.

Givadon, the older sister, turned to Clewiston. "Wasn't sure wot we should do, Colonel sir. Those winged brutes look big 'nuff t' carry off three hares apiece ... 'specially that red monster. Didn't think we oughtta start a fight without your say so."

"You did right, missy. Don't wanna injure any goodbirds by mistake."

"Goodbirds!" Gallatin croaked in rage. "They're plunderers! Villains! Miscreants and no-accounts! Out with you! Outta my trees an' gardens, I say!"

The kite and falcon threw the apoplectic hare lieutenant an occasional glance, but otherwise went on with their eating quite calmly, totally unperturbed by the fuss they were causing.

"Cool pair o' customers, must say," Mizagelle observed. "But I thought their type only hunted 'n' fed on small creatures, not fruit."

"Guess if a bird or beast's hungry enuff, it'll eat wot it has to," Clewiston said.

Gallatin stooped and grabbed up a good-sized rock with rough edges and hurled it at the kite with the full force of his anger. The projectile struck the bird on its breast, causing it to cry out with a piercing shriek that made the watching hares cover their ears. The kite flapped its wings in agitation, but neither bird made any move to attack their tormentor.

Clewiston strode forward and lay a restraining paw on Gallatin's shoulder. "Steady on, Lieutenant! Always try talkin' first. You can always chuck stones if words don't work."

"But, Colonel - "

"Stand back, an' that's an order!"

Obediently, Gallatin stepped back behind his commander, although his eyes still shot fire at kite and falcon. Clewiston addressed the two birds. "Right, now, wot's the meanin' of this? We don't mind sharin' our grub with journeybeasts who ask politely, but you're trespassin' on our mountain without our leave, an' gulpin' up enuff to choke ten hares, if such a thing's possible. We happen to be on a war footing jus' now. We coulda mistaken you for enemies an' slain you!"

The falcon gave a caw of laughter. "Yeaghaha! Groundbunnies gonna slay us! That verra funny. Haha!"

"We hungry," the kite put in. "Food grow on mountain, belong to nobeast, there for all. So we come down to eat. After we eat, we fly away again. Go where we will. No creature stop us!"

"Oh, yeah? Watch me!" Gallatin started casting about for another rock to throw, but Clewiston stopped him.

"Let 'em have their fill," he commanded. "They're big enuff to do us some serious damage if they put their birdbrains to it, and it wouldn't be worth the fight. We'll lose the gardens anyway if Urthblood or Tratton show up, and we haven't the water or harepower to look after them properly. After these two fly off, I'll have a detachment gather all the ripe fruit that's left an' store it in the kitchens. It's late summer; we've gotten a good growing season's worth outta these crops 'n' trees. Time to let 'em go fer now. If things turn out all right, you'll have next spring to get it all back in shape. Okay, chum?"

"Well ... if you say so, sir, I guess ... "

Clewiston turned back to the kite. "So, tell us, have you come far?"

"We fly to ends of world," it declared triumphantly. "Then we fly back again. We go everywhere, kreeeagh!"

"Yes, I'm sure. But I meant where have you come from just now?"

"From mountains to east. Small mountains. Seen much bigger ones other places."

"Quite. Still, you must've been flyin' pretty high, wot?"

"No bird fly higher than us!" the falcon cawed boastfully.

"Then you must've had a good view of the coastlands north an' south of here. Tell me, did you happen to notice any large groups of creatures marching our way? Very large, I mean; fivescore, or tenscore, or even bigger."

Both birds shook their heads, scattering plum juice and raspberry seeds as they did. "No big groups," the kite replied. "Lotsa gulls, nasty gulls, but nothing else. Not for far as we see, and we see far, far!"

"I'm sure you do." Clewiston stepped backed, taking Gallatin and Melanie aside. "Call me bonkers," he said to them in a low voice, "but I'm gettin' a notion on how these featherbags might be able to earn this scoff they're stealin' from us!"

00000000000

A short time later, Halpryn and Klystra were winging away from Salamandastron. Colonel Clewiston had made them a proposition: the two birds would be welcome to help themselves to all that they wanted from the mountain's gardens and trees, in exchange for scouting out the coastlands to let the hares know whether any enemy horde was in the vicinity. Halpryn had told the Colonel that they would consider his offer.

Kite and falcon flew straight east to the mountain range, to put off any hares who might be watching them, and sailed effortlessly over the line of craggy peaks. Then, when they were on the other side of the mountains and skirting the edge of the Western Plains, they dropped low and turned south. Had they thought to look, they might have noticed the ragged line of half a hundred hurried marchers, led by a fox and two squirrels, pushing their way across the Plains to the north. But this was not a scouting mission, and so Halpryn and Klystra flapped southward, wasting no time in reporting back to Lord Urthblood.


	30. Chapter 56

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Six

Halpryn and Klystra came winging out of the southeast, having rounded the lower end of the mountain range to make sure that the hares of the Long Patrol would not be able to see them. The lowering sun stood just above the far horizon of the endless seascape, its late rays casting a glow of burnished gold over the gentle wavetops. The last of the Northlander troops were wading ashore from their crossing of the wide, shallow river. The army of Urthblood was now all upon the north shore of the stream, spread out into regimental encampments of various species. No further obstacle stood between them and Salamandastron; another full day's march, or perhaps a bit more, would take them to the foot of the mountain.

Winokur, back into his dry habit after shaking the excess water from his pelt, stood alongside Urthblood with a few of the other otters, paw to brow, scanning the northern reaches of the coast. "M'Lord, is that the top of Salamandastron I can make out?"

The badger squinted. It was still a clear afternoon, in spite of the clouds building in the east beyond the mountains.

"Yes it is. Most of the mountain is still below the horizon, but we are now close enough to see the very top of the plateau. Were the day just a bit hazier, it would still be hidden from us."

"But y' say it's only a day's march away, Lord?" Captain Saybrook queried. "Salamandastron must not be all that big, if we're so close an' most of it's still under the horizon line."

"It is big enough, as you will soon see," Urthblood told his otter captain. "Remember, Salamandastron was once a volcano, in ages long past. It is immense, but it has a flat top. If it peaked like these mountains to our right, we would have seen it long before now ... and any watchers on its top would have been able to see us."

"Don't suppose they can see us now?" Warnokur asked.

"I think not. As I said before, this stream behind us is not visible from Salamandastron, and we are right on its banks. I think it is only some trick of distance and atmosphere that allows us to see it from here. I am sure we are still unseen."

"Hmm, mebbe so," said Saybrook. "But I guess that splashes any chance of us gettin' near th' place undetected, eh? Even an all-night march from this spot wouldn't get us there before daybreak, so looks like we won't be catchin' those hares by surprise."

"There are surprises, and then there are surprises." Urthblood glanced up, spotting his kite and falcon captains dropping toward them. "Excuse me, I have to go talk to my birds now," he said, and ambled away toward the spot where Halpryn and Klystra were settling down on the sandy ground.

Warnokur looked to Saybrook. "Surprises, eh? Wot d'you s'pose that big fella has in mind, Cap'n?"

The Northlander shrugged. "Knowin' Lord Urthblood, could be anything, Warny mate. But we'll find out soon 'nuff, you can be sure o' that!"

00000000000

After a rapid-fire conference with "his birds," Urtblood called Saybrook over to him. Winokur looked on from a distance, since he hadn't been invited and it appeared the badger wanted to speak with Saybrook alone. The otter stood before his master, listening intently and punctuating his side of the brief conversation with brisk nods. Moments later Saybrook was jogging across the sand back toward Winokur and the others.

"Awright, mateys, lissen up! Lord Urthblood wants a full meeting with all the otters, double quick! We're gonna lead the assault on Salamandastron. He'll give us all th' details of his plan soon as we're assembled, so shift those rudders an' gather 'round His Lordship, pronto!" He turned to Winokur. "Whaddya say, Wink lad? Wanna be part o' the front wave that puts those hares in their places?"

"Um, I'd better not. I'm here to try to stop any fighting, not to take part in it, remember?"

"Well, that's still reason to sit in on this briefing anyway. I'm sure Lord Urthblood wouldn't mind, an' you'll wanna hear what's up."

"That I will," Winokur agreed, falling into step with his father and the rest of the otters as they assembled around the Badger Lord. Within moments all were seated in a large crescent around Urthblood. Halpryn and Klystra remained at the badger's side.

"The situation at Salamandastron is much as I anticipated," Urthblood began, drawing a simple diagram in the sand with a stick. "Three entrances have been left open, including the topmost one, here in the center of the plateau. The other two are here, halfway up the south face, and here, slightly higher up on the north slopes. There is also the main entrance here, facing the sea, but it is sealed by a heavy timber gate, which my brother may have shored up from within with additional timbers, or piled rocks. We may ignore it for now, since it is no way in for an invading force. We can assume the two side tunnels and roof stairs will be guarded by Long Patrol at all times. Klystra and Halpryn believe there are constant lookouts on the mountaintop during daylight hours, and perhaps at night as well. No large land force could approach any closer than we are now without being seen."

"Sounds like it, M'Lord." Saybrook stroked his chin. "But, how'd our two winged friends get close enuff to see all this without bein' seen themselves?"

"By doing the exact opposite of what the Long Patrol would expect of spies. Far from trying to hide, Klystra and Halpryn made their presence as obvious as possible. They played the part of wanderers whose only interest was in raiding the mountainside gardens. They would not appear to be part of any military force, or to be probing Salamandastron for weaknesses."

"Ah!" Saybrook nodded. "So that's why you had 'em take off their vests! So, how'd it work?"

"Very well, it would seem, since the commander of the Long Patrol forces there sought to pursuade them to become spies for his side, on the lookout for us, in exchange for food and drink from Salamandastron's kitchens."

This elicted roars of laughter from the assembled otters. Even Winokur had to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. The two birds clacked their hooked beaks in approval, if not outright laughter.

"Wait a minute," Saybrook said through the subsiding guffaws. "You mean t' say the chief hare actually met with them? Talked to them?"

Urthblood nodded. "And the second-in-command, it would appear."

"Well, then, why didn't your birds just take them out then? That would have left the remainin' Long Patrols with no leaders, an' made our job a whole lot easier."

"Take them out?"

"You know, sir ... slay 'em. Stab their hearts out, or whisk 'em off for a drop from half a mile up - "

Urthblood cut Saybrook off. "Captain, I have made it clear that I wish to take Salamandastron without any loss of life if I can do so. I will assume that these hares are still goodbeasts until I am convinced otherwise. Some of them might even be old acquaintances of mine from the seasons when I dwelt there. I will not have any slain out of paw."

"Yes, M'Lord." Saybrook hung his head, mildly chagrined. Winokur regarded him, surprised that the otter captain could harbor such bloodthirsty thoughts toward hares who'd never done him any harm.

"Quite apart from that," Urthblood went on, "I wanted nothing done which might arouse the suspicions of the defenders we face. Klystra and Halpryn were only there to gather information. Any attack by them might have made the remaining hares wonder if there were other hostile forces in the area. And the Long Patrol are formidable fighters. Halpryn and Klystra may have been grievously harmed had they assaulted the hares. They are too valuable to me as scouts and lookouts to risk them in such a way."

His gaze fell back to his drawing in the sand. "So. We know which ways into the mountain are open to us. That leaves the dilemma of how to use them before they can be blocked off, and how to overcome the score of hares inside without harming them.

"The first part is easy: we launch a surprise assault, insert a force into the mountain before the hares have time to seal the entrances. As I have said, no land force could approach any closer than we are now without being seen. But the Long Patrol will not be expecting an assault from the sea, especially not at night. That is why I have chosen you otters for this mission."

Every otter there leaned forward, eyes wide and ears pricked. An earthquake could not have diverted their attention from Urthblood now. Winokur, like the rest, hung on every word.

"You will leave as soon as the evening meal is over. Otters can swim much faster than most beasts can move on land. You should be able to reach Salamandastron by midnight. When the Long Patrols look to the sea at all, it is to watch for searat vessels; a brigade of otters in the water at night should be nearly invisible to them, even if they happen to be looking in your direction. You should be able to make it ashore undetected."

"That gets us there," Saybrook said. "Then what?"

Urthblood pointed his stick at various features in his diagram. "You'll notice the two unblocked side tunnels face north and south. At high tide and in rough seas, the ocean comes almost to the western foot of Salamandastron. If you land directly opposite the fortress and move straight ashore, guards at neither tunnel entrance will be able to see you; the curve of the mountain will hide you from them. Only a lookout on top might be able to see you, and then only if they are looking right at you. The weather may be to our favor. A cover of cloud is moving in from the east. If it arrives in time to hide moon and stars during your assault, you may be able to climb well up the mountainside, and perhaps even gain the two tunnel entrances, before any alarm can be raised."

"What about the top entrance?" Saybrook asked.

"Klystra and Halpryn will be covering it," Urthblood replied. "With a tarp."

"Huh?"

"Our strategy will not be to drive the Long Patrol out of Salamandastron, but to keep them inside while they can be rendered harmless."

Saybrook twiddled a whisker in his paw. "Twenty hares 'gainst over twoscore otters, with those birdies guardin' the top bolt hole ... I can live with those odds. But they'll fight, sir. Don't see how we can capture 'em all alive, or not suffer any losses of our own, fer that matter."

"Fighting won't be your biggest challenge," said Urthblood. "Finding them all in good time will. It has been said that Salamandastron is a town inside a mountain. It is perhaps vaster than you appreciate. Twenty hares could lose themselves totally in all those chambers and passages. Pursuing them through their own home tunnels would be a futile effort."

"Then what're we to do?" asked Saybrook, stricken by sudden visions of his otters being picked off one by one in those endless passages.

Urthblood's answer was simple. "We shall put Salamandastron to sleep."

00000000000

Saybrook stood at the water's edge, fidgeting and testing the harness straps of his back carrier. "Had no idea we was carryin' so much o' this waterlogged stuff!"

Nearly fifty otters were lined up along the tideline, silhouetted against the last crimson shreds of the set sun. Every one had been outfitted with a specially padded knapsack, shaped like a tall, narrow cylinder; each backpack contained one ceramic vessel of the Flitchaye sleeping gas oil, the two ingredients isolated from each other in their separate compartments until the clay containers could be smashed open upon the stone floors of Salamandastron. The knapsack carriers were designed to keep their contents dry during the otters' swim, and to keep the vessels from accidentally breaking if they were roughly jostled during their climb up the dark mountain slopes. It was clear that Urthblood had been planning for an otter assault on his old home since before they'd come down to Mossflower from the Northlands.

"There were sixty, all told," Urthblood explained to his otter captain, "including the two vessels that were used in the underwater searat craft. I believe in carrying reserves for such unforeseen circumstances. I had them in with the other supplies that the rats and weasels carried, since those brigades were so much larger than yours, and I wanted you otters unencumbered for fighting if battle should have unexpectedly found us."

"Rat's an' weasels, eh?" Saybrook hefted the padded backpack straining at his shoulder muscles. "Heavy enuff fer us otters. Must've been a real burden fer those smaller mateys of ours."

"I heard no complaints."

"Um ... no, I reckon you wouldn't, M'Lord."

"This supply should be adequate to fill all of Salamandastron," Urtblood went on. "The gas has a tendency to rise, so your attack plan is designed accordingly. You won't need to send more than two or three otters all the way up the slopes to the plateau, since Halpryn and Klystra will be covering that opening, and they will each have a Flitchaye oil jar of their own to render unconscious any Long Patrol guards who are up there. Their main job will be to chase any hares on night lookout duty back down the stairs into the tunnel, and then to cover that entrance with a tarp so that the gas can fully flood the mountain's interior without being drawn right back out through the top like smoke from a chimney. I doubt any solitary hare would tangle with hunting birds of this size, not when the safety of a tunnel is only a few paces away. So this is the part of the plan I expect to go smoothest."

Saybrook glanced over at the two birds, standing a short distance away on the wet sand. Each had one of the Flitchaye oil packs slung over their regular heavy tunics, the loads protruding from their breasts so that their wings would be unhindered for flying. Halpryn the kite, who was the larger of the two, stood atop a folded parcel of thick tarpaulin. She would bear it in her talons as she flew to Salamandastron. The kite was easily powerful enough to handle such a double burden.

"It will be wise to send somebeasts up along the outside of the mountain, just in case Halpryn and Klystra require assistance," Urthblood said. "But two or three should be enough. You will need to concentrate most of your forces on the lower assaults.

"Roughly half a dozen should go to the north entrance. Their main objective will be to gas whatever guards are stationed near the tunnel mouth, and take care of any others farther inside who might come to their aid. I am familiar with that passage; it is long but narrow, and very confining. Two or three jars of the Flitchaye oil, thrown back far along the tunnel, should produce vapors thick enough to repel any reinforcements drawn there by our activity. Remember, our goal is to keep all twenty of those hares inside Salamandastron while the sleeping gas has a chance to thoroughly permeate all the chambers and passages.

"Your main force must be directed at the entrance on the south face. It is lower, and leads more directly to the cellar and storeroom levels of the fortress. After overcoming the hares at the entrance, you must make your way to those lowest levels as quickly as you can, where you will release the bulk of the Flitchaye gas so that it can drift upward and affect all of the mountain. If you meet resistance along the way, you can clear the path ahead by breaking more jars to your forward position. After you have done this a few times, the vapors in the middle levels should be thick enough so that nobeast without a protective mask will be able to trouble you. Try to save at least half your supply until you reach the bottom cellars, otherwise the gas might not disperse evenly enough to do the job we require.

"Assuming this can be done according to plan, your next challenge will be to comb the interior until every one of those twenty hares is accounted for. They must be securely bound, and preferably all gathered together in one place so that they can be easily guarded. This must be done before any of them have a chance to revive from the gas. If even one of these creatures remains at large, it could cause untold trouble, perhaps even free its comrades so that they could retake the mountain. There will probably be anywhere from one to three hares stationed at each entrance. These will be overcome right away, and can be bound and secured before the main force enters Salamandastron. This will remove between three and nine hares from the action. If we are very, very lucky, the rest will all be asleep in their beds, but that would be too much to hope for. You must be prepared to meet resistance at any given moment, and for those hares to scatter all throughout the mountain at the first hint of trouble. That will be no problem, as long as they are all kept inside while the Flitchaye gas has a chance to do its work. But until they are all knocked out, they will do whatever they can to hinder you. You must be ready to respond to the unexpected. My brother has left Salamandastron on a war footing. Those hares will be battle ready. If it comes to a fight, your safety must come before theirs. Take the mountain peacefully if you can, by force only if you must, and withdraw immediately if things go awry and you see no hope of success."

Urthblood placed a massive paw on Saybrook's shoulder. "If any creatures among my forces can succeed at this, you can. Go now, Captain, and fortune be with you."

"Thank you, sir," Saybrook saluted. "Um, one more thing before we push off, tho'." He turned to Winokur, who'd stood somewhat apart with his father listening to Urthblood's final briefing of his otter assault team. The young Redwaller was the only otter there not wearing a sleep oil backpack; even Warnokur had donned one, fully intending to join in the expeditionary force.

"What do you say, Wink lad? Comin' or not? No time left t' sit on yer rudder decidin' - gotta make yer choice now."

"Yeah, I guess I do." Winokur stared out to sea, its surface dimming in the evening's waning light. He wasn't sure whether the prospect of swimming those vast waters on a dark night unsettled him more or less than the idea of doing so in daylight. On the one paw, the mantle of blackness would help hide the daunting scope of the ocean's endlessness; not having that infinity of water staring him in the face might put him more at ease. Then again, he would be out in it whether he could see it or not - buffeted and pulled by its mighty currents, the sandy bottom farther below him than in any pond or river he'd ever swum, open prey for any of the mountain-sized ocean beasts he'd heard about in songs and tales. Of course, he would be part of a caravan - comforting, if he didn't lose sight of them in those dark waters, and find himself lost and alone far offshore with no idea how to rejoin his fellow otters. Winokur was no coward, but his courage had never been tested by anything nearly so immense and uncaring as the sea. None of the others seemed to share his trepidation; they stood at attention, waiting patiently for Saybrook's command to dive in and be on their watery way. Even his father seemed eager to be off, but then, Warnokur was a born adventurer.

Winokur shook himself. There were other matters to consider here as well, more important than one otter's inner fears.

"If I go, it won't be as a fighter, or to have any part in capturing Salamandastron," the young otter declared resolutely. "I'm here as a peacemaker, mediator and envoy of Redwall Abbey. I don't wish to go if I'll only get in the way."

"True 'nuff." Saybrook looked back to Urthblood. "What do you hafta say, M'Lord?"

The badger locked gazes with Winokur. "I would say that those hares will, if all goes well, begin waking from the effects of the Flitchaye gas long before the rest of this army can possibly reach Salamandastron on foot. It strikes me that they might want to have somebeast around who's not part of the force that just conquered them, for they will surely consider Saybrook's brigade as conquerers and invaders. A Redwaller on the scene might be to the benefit of everybeast concerned."

Winokur toyed with his lower lip. "Yes, there is that ... "

"Son," said Warnokur, "you came all this way with us, an' now's yer chance to do what y' came here for. Don't worry 'bout gettin' in our way, Wink - when we move, you won't be able t' keep up!"

"I for one would encourage you to go," Urthblood told Winokur. "But the final decision must of course be yours."

The Redwall otter pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then gave an emphatic nod. "My Lord, since you used two of the sleep gas jars on the searat vessel, I assume you've got an empty one of these waterproof backpacks to spare. Could I have one please?"

"By all means. Go see Captain Mattoon about that. His platoon has the empty packs."

Saybrook looked confused. "But, I thought you weren't gonna help carry any of the sleep oil, or take part in our assault?"

"It's not for that," Wink smiled. "Be right back. Don't leave without me!" He sprinted up the dunes toward the weasel squad, returning a short time later with the empty waterproof pack. Setting it down on the sand, he began stripping out of his habit.

"What're you doin', Wink?" Warnokur asked his son, every bit as mystified as Saybrook was.

"Can't very well swim in robes, can I?" Winokur replied, carefully rolling up the habit and sticking it into the backpack. "But I'll want to have this with me when we get to Salamandastron. It's my badge of who I am as a Redwaller, and I think the hares will regard me differently if I'm wearing it. My mediator's uniform, if you like." He sealed the waterproof flaps of the pack and shouldered himself into the harness. "Ready to go when you are!"

Saybrook clapped Winokur on the back. "Glad t' have you with us, lad! Now to the business at paw." He addressed his otter ranks. "Okay, which o' you's got any experience in ocean swimmin'?"

Five flippers went up, along with Saybrook's own.

"Right, then. Tulia, Estok, Galva, you three will form a line along the seaward side of the brigade while we swim north. Viroqua and Rosbor, you'll join me in a line along the landward side. All the otters without sea experience will swim in between our two lines, so nobeast strays or gets lost. We'll keep to a medium speed, and follow a pattern of three body strokes, then up for air. Yes, I know we can all hold our breaths fer much longer'n that. But we hafta stay within sight o' each other. As you prob'ly noticed, clouds are buildin' in. We're gonna have a moonless, starless night, so visibility's gonna be next to zero down below the surface. Don't want us gettin' to Salamandastron in dribs an' drabs, washin' ashore like floatsam 'n' jetsam from some pirate wreck. Gotta stick together like a proper crew o' seadogs. Now, it's gonna be hard makin' each other out on so dark a night, an' it'll be mighty temptin' to shoot ahead, so I'm issuin' orders on this. Three strokes, then up, an' don't go under again until you've sighted the lines to yer left an' to yer right. Then three more an' up again, all th' way to Salamandastron. Are we all clear on this?"

"Aye aye!" A hearty chorus of assent went up from the otter ranks. Winokur's concerns about getting lost at sea were now much allayed.

Saybrook nodded in satisfaction. "Awright then. The dark might make the swim together a little tougher, but it'll be a big help when we get where we're goin'. Lord Urthblood says the biggest danger we face is that some o' the Long Patrol might be out an' about on the mountain, or on the beach around it. We gotta watch out we don't blunder into any of 'em who're lyin' in wait. But, with only a score stationed there to protect all of Salamandastron, chances are they won't spread themselves out like they might if they had their full numbers there. More'n likely they'll all be up inside, guardin' their boltholes an' lookin' out fer trouble from up an' down the coastland, not from th' sea, not at night. That's what to hope fer, mateys - that we'll be able t' walk up to the place right under their noses, an' they won't suspect we're there 'til they wake up with a Flitchaye hangover!"

After more cheers and cries, they were ready to depart. The first otters into the gently rolling breakers were the trio Saybrook had named to hold the seaward flank. They quickly swam out past the point where the waves began to break, stopping when their heads were quite small against the twilit swells. There they waited, treading water to hold their position while the main body of the force swam out to join them. Winokur observed that only about half the squad bore the standard otter javelins, and fewer than that carried short knives and daggers; many seemed to be totally unarmed. It appeared they were putting all their stock in the Flitchaye gas, because this brigade certainly wasn't outfitted for a head-on battle with the Long Patrol.

Winokur, Warnokur and Saybrook were two of the last to leave the shore. Swallowing a little nervously, Winkokur asked, "You sure we won't get lost out there, Captain? It's growing pretty dark for swimming."

"Don't worry. You'll be with all th' rest, between two lines of otters who've got sea swimmin' under their belts. We'll make sure we stay together, an' stay on course. Mebbe the glow jellies will be out tonight. That'd be some help to you landlubbers. Late summer, so the time's right for 'em."

"Glow jellies?" Warnour regarded Saybrook quizically in the fading light. "What're they?"

"You'll see, if they're about. Now shove off, mateys. Ye're holdin' us up!"

Winokur and Warnokur stumbled into the shallows, gentle waves lapping and flowing around their legs. "Jellies, huh?" the otter dad mused. "Hope they come in flavors. A spot of raspberry or strawberry might make this whole thing worth it. Well ... bottoms up!" Aiming himself toward the area offshore where twoscore otter heads and shoulders bobbed in the calm water, he dove headfirst into the surf and swam off. Winokur closed his eyes and followed in his father's wake. Saybrook and the final two otters were right behind them.

Back on shore, Halpryn and Klystra lifted into the cloud-thickening sky and winged northward, the kite carrying the folded tarp clutched in her talons.


	31. Chapter 57

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Seven

Winokur quickly found out what glow jellies were. They were out in force, and they turned the nighttime world beneath the waves into a wonderland of flickering, dancing lights.

At first Winokur thought he was seeing things. So intent was he upon staying together with the rest of the brigade, and not being overwhelmed by the immensity of the waters around him, that he had very little attention to spare for other matters. But, as the darkness deepened and his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, it became obvious that the sea was filled with flashing sparkles that looked almost like momentary bursts of underwater lightning. As he focused more upon the phenomenon, Winokur realized the glimmers only appeared where the otters were; a few times, the animals' entire bodies were outlined and illuminated by the ghostly, blue-green electric glow. Wink himself could feel tiny, soft lumps bumping against him as he swam, and with every impact came a flash in his eyes or along his body. The effect was fascinating.

It actually didn't take long at all for Winokur to grow comfortable with ocean swimming. The tides weren't nearly as powerful as the swift currents around the searat submarine, and the dark did indeed mask the vastness of the sea, both when he was submerged and when he was on the surface. And he was surrounded by otters who were enjoying the swim every bit as much as he was. Between the glow jellies that lit their passage through the waters and the frequent surfacings that Saybrook had ordered, there was no chance whatsoever of getting lost at sea.

It was even possible to hold broken, drawn-out conversations while they swam, speaking during the brief moments between dives. Winokur's previous acquaintances Brot and Olimpo ended up alongside him, and their speed matched his closely enough so that they kept coming up within a heartbeat of one another. Saybrook hadn't ordered silence on this mission, and the two Northlands otters were in a talkative mood.

"The sea's afire tonight, that's fer shore!" Olimpo laughed.

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"So these are the glow jellies," Wink said at the next surfacing, pausing to get a bearing on the other otters around him. With so many in the brigade, and the surfacings at such short intervals, it was nearly impossible to come up and not be greeted by other dark and shiny heads bobbing just above the wave swell, checking on their position in respect to their comrades before vanishing back under the water for their next swimming sprint. "But, what are they?"

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"Don't rightly know," answered Brot. "This's our first time in the brine too."

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"Well, are they fish, or plants, or what?" Winokur wanted to know.

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"Try eatin' one," Brot suggested. "See what it tastes like."

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"Already did," Olimpo reported. "Taste like salty jelly. Not recommended."

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"You actshully ate one?" Brot exclaimed. "Open yer mouth - I wanna see if ye're glowin' inside!"

Ahead and to their right, Rosbor surfaced alongside Saybrook. "Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n, but the lads an' lasses feel we can be makin' better time. These glowin' seaberries are lightin' us up fer each other, an' everybeast's caught the knack o' ocean swimmin' right quick. We can go five or even ten strokes 'tween comin' up an' still be in no danger o' driftin' apart."

"We'll make it five," Saybrook said, "see how that holds for a fewscore leagues. If it works out, we'll go up to ten."

Rosbor nodded. "T'would be nice to get to Salamandastron afore daybreak."

Saybrook dove and swam a dozen powerful body strokes to put himself ahead of the foremost otters, then came up and cried, "Halt!" long and loudly three times so that all the brigade would have a good chance to hear him. Those few who didn't quickly caught on when they saw all their comrades rise and tread water to stay in place. In short order, the entire otter troop was halted in a bobbing group, facing their commander.

"Awright, lissen up, mateys!" Saybrook called out over the background shoosh of the gentle surf. "We're stickin' t'gether better'n I anticipated, so from now on we'll go five strokes 'tween surfacings. Everybeast got that? Five strokes. Keep yer eyes sharp on each other, same as before. If I decide to make anymore changes, I'll stop again an' let y' know. Now, let's get those rudders movin'!"

He swam off to the side, taking his previous place at the front of their shoreward flank, and once again they were on their way.

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"Hey, this's more like it," Olimpo exulted. "I was gettin' bored, goin' so slow."

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"We'll be makin' good time now, that's fer shore," Brot agreed.

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke.

Brot again: "Oh, I do believe I feel some raindrops. Looks like ol' Urthblood was right."

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke.

"Do hares mind the rain much?" Olimpo asked.

"Dunno," Brot replied before they went under again, since Winokur came up a moment behind. "Guess we'll find out when we get there."

Dive, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke.

And on they swam, closing the distance between themselves and Salamandastron.

00000000000

Hares, as a matter of fact, are not especially fond of rain, and those of the Long Patrol were no exception.

The sprinkles started around Salamandastron in the hours after sunset as on-again, off-again patches of drizzle - enough to dampen the fur and wet the whiskers, but nothing more. By midnight, however, the rainfall had increased to a steady and constant shower that would soak to the bone any creature that stayed out in it for very long.

The two hares guarding the plateau were the first to seek shelter, withdrawing to the tunnel at the foot of the stone stairs that led up to the roof of Salamandastron. There they huddled in the dark of their overnight vigil as the rain slicked the stairway and trickled down to the drainage crack below the bottom step. In no way did they feel derelict in their duty; as of twilight there had been no enemy force visible from the top of the mountain, and now the black night and the veil of rain made any attempt at a long-range lookout quite pointless. They would stand their watch down where it was dry ... not that they honestly expected anybeast to test their watchfulness on a night such as this. But all entrances were to be guarded at all times, and there wasn't a hare of the Patrols who didn't take this duty seriously.

The sentries at the north and south side entrances endured somewhat longer, since they could shelter beneath the tunnel overhangs and still view much of the coastlands. They preferred to stand outside whenever they could, to get the widest possible view, but as the drizzle strengthened to a harder rain and visibility dropped to almost nothing, they retreated into the dry sanctuary of the tunnels. As with the roof sentries above, they did not expect to be challenged, since no army would be marching on a night like this.

Outside the south tunnel stood the last holdout.

Mizagelle shivered. The night wasn't actually cold, but her tunic was saturated and her fur was soaked through to the skin, making her feel clammy rather than refreshed, as the warm spring rains often did. She pawed at her brow to keep her eyes clear of the drops dripping down into them. Her other paw kept a tight grip on her longbow, the smooth yew now slippery in her grasp, and rainwater sloshed at the bottom of her quiver, mocking her efforts to keep it tilted to prevent the heavy liquid from accumulating there. She wasn't actually miserable, but her mood was far from joyous.

"Hey, Mizzy!" called a voice from the tunnel behind her. "Come in outta th' blinkin' rain already, willya? Not doin' any good out there, an' you're makin' yer big sis look bad!"

"I'm doin' wot th' Colonel told us to, Givvy," Mizagelle called out in reply without glancing back. "Guardin' th' bally tunnel's gotta be done proper, or may's well not do it at all, wot?"

A snort of exasperation came from within the tunnel, and a moment later a second dark figure joined the first out on the rainswept slope.

"C'mon, sis," Givadon implored. "You're lookin' worse'n a drowned bilgerat. Oughta see yerself. This weren't wot the Colonel meant by standin' guard. Wot d'you s'pose he'd think o' you catchin' a chill an' gettin' laid up in the sickbed when you didn't hafta?"

"We're s'posed to be guardin' th' bally mountain," Mizagelle stubbornly asserted, "an' this is the way we guard it!"

Givadon threw a sisterly paw around Mizagelle's sodden shoulders. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now, I've been in th' Patrols a few seasons longer'n you, Miz, so trust me on this one. Wot Lord Urthfist an' the Colonel care most about is keepin' our home safe 'n' secure - "

"Right! That's wot - "

"Shush, an' don't interrupt, Mizzy. Improper hare form, don'tcha know. Now, as I was sayin', they wanna keep Salamandastron safe ... which means keepin' US safe 'n' sound, since we're th' ones who guard the bally place. So do tell, do you really think our Colonel would approve of wot you're doin' here? You might think you're bein' conscientious and all, but believe me, Miz, when you hafta miss your next rotation 'cos you got a bad case o' chills 'n' sniffles an mebbe a fever too, th' Colonel won't be any too happy 'bout bein' a hare short. 'Specially at a time like this."

"But Urthblood's out there somewhere, an' Tratton too ... "

"An' neither o' those rotters're gonna get their bloody claws on our home, if we have anything t' say 'bout it. When the daylight failed, there wasn't an enemy within a day's march o' here, but even if there was one right on our bally doorstep, wot would you do 'bout it? Out here with yer bow, which'd prob'ly slip outta your paws if you tried to draw back the string, an' yer arrows, which you couldn't sight right or shoot straight in this soaker anyway. So wise up, sis, an' come on inside. We can keep our post just as easily back in the tunnel where it's dry. Lissen to your big sister, that's a sensible hare."

"Well ... okay."

Back inside the stone tunnel, Mizagelle shook off some of the water and started to sit down with her back against the wall, but Givadon wasn't finished with her younger sister.

"Now, wot d'you think you're doin', Miz?"

"Huh? Why, I'm just gettin' settled - "

"Not like that you're not. Wet as you are now, you'd as likely catch a chill sittin' here as standin' out in th' rain. Down y'go to the kitchens, 'til you've dried out some by the ovens. Peppertail should be down there, keepin' the fires stoked; he'll help you out, get you warmed up in a jiff."

"But, that'd leave you here all alone, Givvy!" Mizagelle objected.

"Only for a little bit. Send ol' Pepper up here t' keep me company 'til you get back, if that'll make you feel better. But you're not spendin' another minute on this watch all soaked 'n' drippin', even if I hafta drag you to the kitchens by yer pretty ears. That'd leave nobeast guardin' this entrance, an' wouldn't the Colonel love that? So off y' go, an' don't come back until you're a dry hare lass."

Mizagelle started hesitantly down the tunnel. "Mebbe I should get Mum."

"Don't you dare! Our sweet ol' mater had a full watch last night, an' was up all day besides. She needs a whole night's sleep to stay sharp."

"Okay. Then I will send Peppertail up here. He may be more handy with a ladel than with arms, but I won't leave you alone, Givvy."

"Suit yerself." Givadon twirled her loaded sling so that it sang in the dark confines of the passage. "All I know is, anybeast wot doesn't belong here tries to get in this way, it's gonna wake up with one helluva headache - if it wakes up at all."

00000000000

Halfway between midnight and dawn, twoscore otters emerged from the sea like dark, silent phantoms and assembled at the foot of Salamandastron.

Captain Saybrook had kept his team to a swim pattern of five strokes between surfacings. His strategy had been the correct one; while they certainly could have made better time, Saybrook knew that there might still be a battle ahead of them this night. It was important to make sure his otters didn't exhaust themselves just reaching their destination. As it was, the measured pace of their swim left them with plenty of energy for the mission at paw.

The mountain fortress towered above them like a behemoth. As black as the night was, Salamandastron was even blacker, a shadow against the darkness, filling the entire world when they tilted their heads back to take it in. For creatures viewing it for the first time, it was a rather intimidating experience.

Saybrook turned to address his force, keeping his voice just loud enough to be heard above the rain and surf noises. "Awright ... Lord Urthblood says this west face is a good slope to climb all the way to the top. Tulia, Brot and Olimpo, you three take the roof entrance. Klystra an' Halpryn should be up there already, waitin' fer you. I want this assault as closely coordinated as we can make it. I'm countin' on you an' those birds to knock out any roof guards, an' then bottle up that openin'. Up y' go now. We'll give you a little bit of a head start, then move into position ourselves at the north an' south tunnels. Good luck ... an' be careful!"

"Aye, Captain!" Tulia took the lead, scrambling cautiously up the rain-slicked mountainside as Brot and Olimpo followed close behind so as not to lose each other in the dark. A steady rain was still falling, and the otters' wet pelts made them almost invisible against the night. It was the best possible camouflage, but there were no glow jellies here to mark the companions out to each other, and it would be easy to get lost and stay lost on the expanses of the mountain slopes.

"Okay, next then." Saybrook strained through the darkness to make out the otters standing nearest him. "Rosbor, you'll head the party to the north side entrance. Pick seven others to accompany you. It may take us both awhile to find the two side tunnels on this whoppin' big rockpile, but do the best you can. You might as well gas it as soon as you find it, since the rest of us'll be goin' in the south openin' 'bout th' same time, so nothin' gained by you waitin'. Take otters who're armed, since you might hafta fight if any hares do make it out through the gas to you."

"Think eight'll be enuff, sir?" Rosbor asked.

"Lord Urthblood seemed to think so," Saybrook replied. "I want to have as many otters with me as I can when we make the main assault. 'Member, we're the ones who hafta get down to the lower levels. Puttin' Salamandastron to sleep is gonna be mostly on our shoulders. If you encounter resistance, release as much of the sleep gas in the tunnel that you can, then beat a retreat. Don't harm any hares unless you hafta."

"Aye aye." Rosbor quickly chose seven otters from those around him, and then they were off, climbing up and around to the north face of the mountain.

Saybrook turned to the remaining force, still a over score and a half strong. "Um, Wink, lad, where are ye?"

The Redwaller stepped forward. "Right here, Captain. I was just about to ask what you wanted me to do."

"You an' yer pappy stay down here by the water's edge. If things get ugly, I don't want you in th' thick of it. I'll send somebeast to fetch you once we have the place secured. An' if things don't turn out like we planned, I s'pect you'll be seein' at least some o' us beatin' our way back past here to th' sea, so you'll know how it went one way or the other."

"Wait a sec, Cap'n," Warnokur protested. "I been a soldier in Lord Urthblood's army fer a season now, an' I'm carryin' Flitchaye oil you may need in there. I didn't ferry it all th' way upcoast to babysit it out here. Wink you want stayin' put, that I can unnerstand, he didn't come along fer th' fight. But I did. You need every pair o' paws an' every jar o' sleep oil you c'n get, sir. I'm ready an' able to be part o' this. Don't make me miss it."

"Sorry, Warny. I don't want any Redwallers settin' foot inside Salamandastron 'til it's safe. You've fought fer Lord Urthblood before, an' you'll have the chance to do so again. But this is one battle ye're gonna hafta miss. I only want me most experienced troops goin' in with me, ones I been servin' with fer seasons. You 'n' Wink stay here, an' that's an order!"

"Yes, Cap'n, sir," Warnokur said glumly.

"Awright," Saybrook called out as loudly as he dared, "everybeast else up to th' south side with me! It's a little steeper that way, so watch yer step an' be careful not t' fall. Lord Urthblood's countin' on us, so let's do it right!"

00000000000

The invasion of Salamandastron went like clockwork.

Halpryn and Klystra were waiting up on the caldera's rim when Tulia's otter trio got there. The two guard hares, sheltering down at the bottom the stairs, were oblivious to the presence of other creatures on the plateau. Tulia, Brot and Olimpo held a brief, whispered conversation with the two birds, then helped unfasten the sleep oil vessels from falcon and kite. After taking out their own clay containers as well, working with great care so as not to clink the ceramic hourglass-shaped jars against the stone floor of the mountaintop, they unfolded the tarp and silently bore the heavy sheet over to the lip of the stairwell hole that led down into the fortress.

What little sound they made was covered by the steady patter of raindrops upon the hard crater floor. The hares below never heard anything.

Klystra had told the otters what it was like down the stairs and into the long, narrow passage beyond, based upon the glimpse the falcon had stolen the previous afternoon. Now Brot and Olimpo descended halfway down the stairs as stealthily as they could, each holding one of the sleep oil bombs. Since the stairway had to be wide enough to accommodate a full-grown male badger in armor, the two otters were able to stand side by side.

Paused upon the middle step, they peered down into the passage, but the interior was black as pitch to their eyes. If there were any hares down there at all, and if they were aware of the intruders, the otters could not tell. Expecting to be challenged at any moment, Brot and Olimpo tossed their clay cannisters as far back along the corridor as they could. Even as the two vessels smashed, abruptly shattering the calm quiet with the explosive impact of their breakage, the two otters were sprinting back up to the plateau.

"Hey, wot - "

"Wot th' devil?"

The hare duo was caught completely by surprise. And now that they had betrayed their presence with their alarmed shouts, their adversaries were taking no chances. Brot and Olimpo cleared the top step with a tandem bound even as Tulia, waiting at the ready, hurled a third Flitchaye gas jar down to smash upon the lower stairs.

Before the narcotic vapors had a chance to billow up from the stairwell and overwhelm the small assault force, Halpryn and Klystra pulled the tarp over the opening, forming a barrier that would keep most of the gas and hopefully the Long Patrol hares down below.

They needn't have worried. The two hares were overwhelmed by the gas almost immediately, and dropped to the stone floor of the passage mere paces from their original positions. Not even knowing what manner of attack was upon them until they started choking and their eyes started watering, they fell before they could escape the gas or raise a cry.

The nearest hares who could have helped were fast asleep several levels down. Those members of the Long Patrol slept on, unroused by the distant, ghostlike echo of something breaking. Every hare had been on edge since Urthfist's departure, and this rainy night was seen as something of a respite. Those who didn't have guard duty allowed themselves to surrender totally to the deep slumber of dreams. Badly in need of whatever uninterrupted sleep they could get, they weren't about to let some phantom noise, barely audible to even alert hare ears, intrude upon their justly deserved rest.

And so, Phase One of Urthblood's plan met with no resistance.

00000000000

Down on the north slopes, Phase Two was unfolding.

Rosbor's octet of otters crouched just outside the tunnel opening on either side. Their biggest challenge had been locating the black entrance against the black mountainside on this moonless night, without attracting the notice of the hares who might be watching from within the recess. Fortunately, the rainy darkness worked to their benefit as well, rendering their stealthy forms almost invisible and allowing them to creep right up to the tunnel mouth without betraying their approach. Urthblood had given the troop detailed instructions on finding the tunnel openings, including what small landmarks to look for. These had helped greatly, and now Rosbor's small squad flanked one of the two remaining ways into Salamandastron.

Four sleep oil jars were hurled into the tunnel as one. Two hit the hare guards within; one of these bounced off a sentry's stomach in such a way that it hit the floor without breaking, its velocity absorbed by the yielding body it had impacted. But the other three vessels did rupture successfully, immediately filling the tunnel with thick gas invisible in the unlit passage. Here, too, the Long Patrol sentinels needed several moments to figure out what was going on. Instinctively they retreated back along the passage to regroup and decide whether it would be better to try to hold the tunnel or go for help. But they did not retreat quite far enough, and by the time they realized their mistake in a spasm of choking and coughing, it was too late. Down they went and down they stayed, while the sleep-inducing vapors wafted over them and farther into Salamandastron.

00000000000

Givadon cupped the hot mug in her paws. "Thanks fer th' tea, Sergeant."

Peppertail shrugged, invisible in the darkness. "Don't mention it, Givvy m' dear. Had t' come up here anyway, an' 'twas already brewed."

"Aw, you didn't hafta, Sarge. I coulda held this post by m'self until Mizzy got all dried out. Nobeast out 'n' about tonight, friend or foe, an' that's fer sure. I could prob'ly sleep away the rest o' this watch, an' nobeast'd be th' wiser."

"If you're thinkin' 'bout a nap," Peppertail chuckled, "then I sure am glad I brought up that tea. It'll keep you from noddin' off."

"Must be most o' the way toward dawn," Givadon guessed. "Didn't need any help keepin' awake, tho' bed's gonna feel mighty comfy after this damp 'n' dreary watch-about. Hope this tea doesn't keep me from fallin' asleep. Hate lyin' abed waitin' to drift off to bally dreamland."

The sound of approaching pawsteps against the stone passageway floor made them glance up, but as yet they could make out no form in the dark. Mizagelle called out, "Hullo, Givvy, Pepper! You both still up there?"

"Right here, Miz," Givadon answered.

"Could've fooled me. Cripes, it's a dark one tonight! Can't see me paw in front o' my face. Well, just barely I can. But, uh, keep talkin', you two, wouldya? Don't wanna bump into you."

"Sure thing, sis. We'll just babble on a bit, an' you follow my voice."

It was very unusual to get such a dark night at Salamandastron. Normally, moonlight or at least starlight would be visible in the sky, framing the tunnel mouths against the world outside. And on those evenings when moon and stars were completely obscured by clouds, it was customary to light lamps, torches and lanterns to illuminate the interior of the stronghold. On their current war footing, however, the Colonel had ordered that no lights be lit which might guide an enemy to one of the two unfortified side entrances. The strategy had worked just fine up until now, since every previous night had been light enough for the hares to see by, while they remained hidden in the shadows of the tunnel openings or still as statues just outside them on the slopes, imperceptible to anybeast spying out the mountain. But tonight, there was no light within or without, making the outside nearly as black as the deepest unlit mountain chamber. This made the job of the overnight sentries very difficult indeed, since an intruder could walk right up to one of the entrances and still not be seen, even by the sharp-eyed hares.

Not that any such thing would happen, of course. What were the chances that an enemy would be able to perfectly time an attack to coincide with such unusual weather conditions? Still, it begged the question of exactly what the tunnel guards were supposed to be doing when they couldn't even see the weapons in their own paws, much less the other creatures about them.

"You all good 'n' dried out now, Miz?" Peppertail asked.

"I should hope so," Givadon said sardonically. "Been down there so long, thought mebbe she'd fallen into one o' the ovens, an' we'd be havin' roast hare fer brekkers."

"No such luck, sis," Mizagelle's voice was much nearer now. "I am nice 'n' dry, tho'. Fluffy as a baby bunny. Too bad you can't see me in this ink - I'm positively puffed!"

"Then we'll just hafta stick you back out in the rain - hey, easy with that bow!"

"Wotcha mean?" Mizagelle asked, puzzled. "I didn't touch anybeast yet."

"Well, somethin' just poked me in the spine!" Givadon insisted. "No, I guess it wasn't you, Miz, you're still in front o' me. Sergeant, wot're you swingin' 'round back there?"

Peppertail's voice came from alongside her. "Sorry, gel. I'm standin' put with my paws to m'self. You must've poked your own self."

A fourth voice, deep and resonant, sounded in the dark passage. "Excuse me, but is this Salamandastron?"

The three hares froze, shocked to the sudden realization that they were not alone in the shadowy blackness.

"Who goes there?" Peppertail challenged, as Givadon spun toward the unseen stranger, hefting her loaded sling.

"Nobeast here but us otters," the voice said matter-of-factly. "'Scuse me, but I gotta run now."

"Oomf!" There was a sound of quick motion, and something heavy hit Mizagelle in the stomach, shattering as it deflected off her body and hit the stone floor. Givadon saw a movement, a shadow among shadows, and swung her sling for a crippling blow. Her swing met only empty space; the intruder had already retreated outside the tunnel.

"Why, that blighter!" Givadon snarled. From behind, she heard Mizagelle start to cough and wheeze, and an acrid odor stung her nose and eyes. "Mizzy! You all right, sis? Wot'd that interloper chuck at you?"

Another explosive crash sounded from out near the tunnel mouth. Now Peppertail was coughing as well.

"Poison!" the Sergeant gasped. "We're bein' poisoned!" Then his body hit the tunnel floor with a thump.

Givadon turned this way and that, flailing through the invisible clouds with her sling. Billows of the gas closed in upon her from both directions, and within moments her head was spinning. At the last she realized, too late, that her first move should have been back down the tunnel at the very first sign of trouble. This thought was chased from her mind by the spasms of choking coughs that doubled her over onto her knees. Now there was nobeast to warn the others of this unexpected danger. Her paw found her sister's still, warm form as she groped for clear space to collapse; then she was overcome completely. Givadon slumped forward, not even aware that she was lying partly atop Mizagelle.

As soon as all sound of movement and struggle ceased within the passage, a long line of dark, sleek, thick-tailed figures filed into the tunnel, feeling their way past the fallen hares and toward the heart of Salamandastron. Over their mouths and noses they wore special masks to filter out the sleeping gas, and in their paws they carried many more of the vessels that had already put to sleep every sentry the Long Patrol had standing watch that night. As two of the intruders saw to binding and gagging the unconscious hares, the rest continued farther into the passage. There was now nothing to stop the invaders.


	32. Chapter 58

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Eight

To the south, where Urthblood's army was encamped upon the north shore of the coastal broadstream, the rain never amounted to more than a misty drizzle. But the cloud cover here was just as dense as it was over Salamandastron. The hour before dawn was dark as midnight.

The various soldierbeasts were long accustomed to sleeping in the open in all kinds of weather, on all types of ground. Damp, loamy sand under drizzly black skies was better than some of their past bivouacs, and while it was hardly comfortable, Urthblood's troops had learned long ago to take their sleep whenever and wherever they could get it. On campaigns such as this, the call to action could come at any moment.

As it did now.

Abellon came immediately awake at the first gentle touch of the massive paw on his shoulder, and the first deep intonation of the single word, "Captain," that came through his ears into his sleep-filled mind. The mouse captain sat up, wet sand coating his fur and tunic where they'd been pressed against the ground, and peered up through the predawn black at the dim shape that loomed above him.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Rouse your squad. Make ready to march. We move out before dawn's first light."

"Aye, sir. Um ... have you heard from Halpryn or Klystra about how things went at Salamandastron?"

"Not yet."

"Oh." Abellon glanced skyward, but moon and stars were still utterly hidden; he had no clue what the hour was, or how long he'd slept. "Uh, but we're gonna get started anyway?"

"Those are my orders."

"Yes, sir. I'll get right to it." Abellon stood, brushing himself off as Urthblood moved on to awaken his other captains.

Jans and Broggen were lying nearby and had been stirred to wakefulness by their captain's rising. The manacled mouse and stoat sat up as one and looked to Abellon. "We movin' out, Cap'n?" Jans inquired.

"Right now," Abellon nodded. "Help me wake the rest of the fellas, fellas."

Broggen stretched and yawned while Jans pawed the sleep out of his eyes. "Hmm! I were just havin' a real nice dream ... "

"Good fer you," the mouse grumbled. "Hang onto it while you can, Broggs, 'cos today's prob'ly the day we see action ... an' I doubt there's gonna be anything nice about it."

00000000000

Unbeknownst to him, Lieutenant Gallatin was the only hare of the Patrols awake at Salamandastron.

After Lord Urthfist had departed for Redwall, taking four-fifths of his hares with him, Colonel Clewiston decided that either he or Gallatin ought to be awake at all times, for the benefit of the younger, less experienced hares. Now Gallatin leisurely strolled the passages of the level above the main dining hall. Unlike the entrance tunnels, which were kept dark for reasons of security, much of the mountain's interior was lit with a warm glow from candles and torches. Most of the inner chambers, surrounded by the bulk of the mountain on all sides, were windowless. In these rooms and corridors, lamps could kept burning all the time without danger of being glimpsed by some foe outside Salamandastron.

Gallatin had come down earlier from the plateau, seeing for himself how truly impenetrable the dark over the coastlands was on this blackest of black nights. He had personally granted the roof guards permission to shelter at the bottom of the stairs if the drizzle turned harder. After all, what was the point of having his fellow hares be wet and miserable, this night of all nights? Those birds had reported no enemy within days of Salamandastron, and the observations of the evening lookouts seemed to bear this out. Far better to keep his forces primed and ready for when they would really be needed, and let them be comfortable tonight.

The Lieutenant spent much of the predawn morning wandering through some of the unlit, unoccupied outer rooms, stopping now and again to gaze out the windows set into the mountainside. Not much was to be seen of the dark landscape beyond. As the rainfall strengthened and slackened by turns throughout the night, Gallatin would retreat back into the cozy, well-lit inner passages whenever the all-encompassing darkness outside grew too oppressive for his taste.

It was the quietest overnight Salamandastron had seen that summer. After the falcon and the kite had flown away, every hare pitched in to salvage the last of the edibles from garden and orchard. Now most took their well-deserved rest, slumbering soundly through the rainy night. Gallatin took comfort in having so many friends around him, even if they were not at his side during his nighttime vigil. The three entrances were well-guarded, even though danger was almost surely very far from their doorstep. A stranger walking these tunnels could easily have mistaken Salamandastron for an abandoned place, it was almost still as death this night, but Gallatin knew better. This was the peaceful calm of warriors waiting for war.

Peppertail still had yet to turn in when Gallatin had last checked the Sergeant's room. Since he was the appointed kitchenmaster among the score of hares who remained at Salamandastron, Peppertail had stayed up late working in the kitchens and storerooms, finding places for all the fruits and vegetables which had been harvested the previous afternoon. If he'd gotten into the mood of stewing, pickling and preserving, as he sometimes did, Peppertail might well work straight through the night and past dawn, running on fumes and his culinary passion until Gallatin or the Colonel ordered him to stop for his own good.

Gallatin was feeling rather peckish from his long, ambling tour of the upper levels. He knew he really ought to check in with the two teams at the north and south side entrances, to offer encouraging words on this dreary night if nothing else, but hunger got the better of him. And so he turned his footsteps toward the passages leading down toward the kitchens. If Peppertail was still up and about, he might be able to snatch himself something extra good, hot out of the pot. Otherwise, he'd help himself to a morsel or three from the larders.

Off in the distance, he heard something shatter. "Yup," Gallatin chuckled to himself, "Pepper's still up 'n' at it. Wonder wot he just broke?"

Then he caught himself in mid-step, halted with his paw off the floor. The kitchens were still several levels down; he couldn't possibly have heard a jar or pitcher shattering all the way up here.

Gallatin shrugged off the suspicion of trouble as an overactive imagination. "Pepper prolly moved up to th' dinin' hall," he told himself. "Must've run outta room down in th' kitchen. I'll stop by an' have a peek there ... mebbe I won't hafta go all th' way down to the bally kitchens after all."

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The otters in Captain Saybrook's main assault team were relieved when they finally got past the totally dark outer tunnel to a point where they could see a dim flickering up ahead of them. Even though Urthblood had described this route to his otter forces in meticulous detail, it was quite another matter to navigate it in full darkness. Their progress was painfully slow at first, since they had to feel their way along the twists and turns of the passage and avoid any obstacles the hares might have placed there. They dared not light any lamp which might betray their presence, and they had to advance as noiselessly as possible. These sharp-eared hares could likely hear even the most minor disturbance far down the tunnels, or even from another level. It was a nerve-wracking walk, not knowing whether an enemy defender might be lurking just ahead or off to one side, tipped off by the rustle of their movements to stand ready for attack, or to hasten away to fetch reinforcements.

The first light they reached was a guttering torch at the juncture of two passages. No hares were in sight, and it was easy to tell which branch led in the downward direction they wanted to go.

Saybrook decided that the time for stealth was past. They'd now penetrated far enough into the mountain that the Flitchaye gas could start to be used effectively. He ordered the last otter in line to smash a jar on the floor of the intersection as they snaked through it. They could do nothing about resistance that might be waiting for them ahead except to battle through, but deploying a gas cannister here would discourage any reinforcements from coming up behind them by this route. If they could succeed in preventing a surprise counterattack from their rear, the battle would be half-won. The noise would be worth the risk.

Threescore paces farther along, they came to a larger, three-way intersection, with broad winding stairs leading both up and down. Saybrook ordered another vessel of sleep oil broken here, since this was clearly a major meeting of the ways through which the gas could rise far into the upper reaches of the mountain fortress. It was also a likely route for defenders to use in a counter-offensive against the otters. Saybrook considered using two jars, but they still had a way to go before they reached the lower levels where Urthblood had instructed them to release most of the gas. Saybrook wanted to keep plenty in reserve, in case they needed it for defense.

The jar was smashed, and the otters moved on. But this time, the noise had not gone unheard.

Almost immediately the downward passage opened into a vast cavern of a chamber. There were three entrances, including the one through which the otters now filed, and all three were framed by a pair of blazing wall torches. The rough-hewn rock ceiling arched so high over their heads that Klystra or even Halpryn could very easily have flown about within this space. An immense long table set round with equally long benches dominated the center of the room, while many smaller tables stood off to the sides. Most of the seats were proportioned for hares, but one gigantic chair was placed at the head of the main table, three times the size of the other chairs.

This was the main dining hall, right where Urthblood had said it would be. Saybrook was reassured to know they were going in the right direction. He'd had some moments of anxiety in the utterly black outer tunnel. While he was fairly certain they hadn't missed any side tunnel turnoffs, this cavernous signpost was a welcome sight.

Saybrook studied the other two doorways. The one straight across from them on the far side of the dining hall would also lead upwards, according to Urthblood's briefing. But the one off to his left would take them down to the kitchens, and from there they could proceed directly to the lowest levels, which consisted chiefly of storerooms, springroom, armories, Urthfist's main war room, and any number of passages that led out to lower entrances on the mountain slopes, all of which were now solidly blocked and sealed. This lack of tunnels open to the outside would cause the gas released there to waft upward and thoroughly permeate all of Salamandastron.

The otter chief started to lead his troops around the tables to the doorway they wanted, but a motion in the far stairwell caught his eye. Saybrook froze, throwing up a paw to halt the column. All eyes followed his gaze to the far wall.

Somebeast was coming into the hall, and they were caught out in the open with nowhere to hide!

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Lieutenant Gallatin sniffed as he started down the stairs. What was that smell? It was almost enough to make his eyes water. One of Peppertail's adventures in canning must have gone disastrously wrong.

Had he descended to the dining hall from the opposite end, he would have encountered a dense, rising cloud of white vapors, and shortly after that he would most likely have been laid out on the corridor floor, overcome by the sleeping gas. But since sheer providence had placed him on the opposite side of the mess hall when he heard the sound of clay smashing, he was able to reach the chamber with nary a suspicion that anything was amiss.

He was quite unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Even as his footpaw crossed the threshold into the spacious hall, Gallatin saw that he was not alone in the chamber, not by a long shot. There were beasts here, many more than there could possibly be, more than there were hares in all of Salamandastron at the moment. But these were not hares, that was obvious at a glance even from clear across the hall, and that made them enemies.

And they had seen him.

The Lieutenant stood stock still, hackles raised in shocked alarm as he studied the intruders. Otters. Fully a score and a half, lined up in a marching procession between the far doorway and the kitchen stairs. At least he thought they were otters from their color, size and shape. But over their faces they wore pale coverings. At first he took them to be white muzzles on the otherwise dark creatures, but then Gallatin realized they were masks, protecting their mouths and snouts.

Behind them, a few vagrant wisps of white curled and hung in the torchlight.

Gallatin was frozen, tensed with fear and flight reflex, but so totally taken by surprise that he was uncertain how he should react. What happened next only added to his confusion.

The lead otter raised his paw and gave a friendly wave.

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"Ahoy, matey!" Saybrook called out to the dumbfounded hare.

Without waiting for a reaction, he turned to his comrades. "Okay, we knew this had to come sooner or later. Don't panic. This one's alone and unarmed. He's not about to challenge us. But we have to move fast now." Saybrook pointed at some of the nearest otters. "You, smash your jar in the corner behind us. You, break yours over past where we came in. You - and you - smash your two vessels out from the two far corners. And ... you, deploy one right smack amidships of this flippin' cave."

The first smash came even as he finished issuing his instructions. Saybrook nodded in satisfaction. This dining hall was one of the main gathering places within Salamandastron. The two upward tunnels here must link eventually with almost all the upper level passages. Using five of the Flitchaye gas jars here would be most worthwhile, both in terms of fumigating the fortress and in putting off pursuit. This might not be the only way down past the kitchens, but it was almost certainly the main way, and the one that would occur to the Long Patrol to use first. If the hares could not get through the dining hall, they'd have a much harder time giving chase to the otters.

Saybrook glanced back at the far doorway. Their one-hare audience was nowhere to be seen, having found his feet and fled back up to the higher levels. Over the last two shattering smashes he could hear a shrill and frantic whistle - no doubt a call to alarm.

"Let's get movin', mates!" he called out. "Company's comin' - unless we can put 'em to sleep first!"

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Colonel Clewiston and Lieutenant Gallatin both wore silver whistles around their necks. A similar whistle was left with each of the teams guarding the tunnel mouths at the start of each night's watch. If an enemy should manage to breach their security measures and enter the mountain, the whistle was a way that an overmatched sentry team could sound the alarm, alerting the other lookouts and rousing the sleeping rotation of the Long Patrol to wakefulness. So far this night, the sentry whistles had not sounded once, the tunnel guards having been overcome by the gas attacks before they could think to use them.

Now, Lieutenant Gallatin blew for all he was worth.

As soon as the lead otter had started giving commands to his masked brethren, Gallatin was up the stairs in a flash. He knew he could outrun any otter, but he wasn't taking any chances. They were enemies, they had to be, and they were already deep inside Salamandastron. How they had managed this Gallatin couldn't imagine, but he wasn't about to stick around to see what they were up to. If he was wrong about them and they meant no harm, that could be sorted out later ... before a full assembly of the Patrols.

But Gallatin knew he wasn't wrong. That was a military force he'd glimpsed, and they'd gotten past experienced guard hares. And that meant trouble, plain and simple.

The piercing trill of his emergency signal became Gallatin's whole world; his footfalls landed automatically, instinct guiding him through the warren of passages where he'd spent all his adult seasons. His only thought was to reach his fellow hares, to rouse them and report what he'd seen and help the Colonel rally them to the defense of their home.

Onward and upward he sprinted, sparing no breath to his unceasing call to arms. Behind and below him, creeping upward at a much slower pace, rose the silent white mist which threatened to put the Long Patrols to sleep before they'd scarcely had time to come fully awake.

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Saybrook released three more portions of gas down on the kitchen level. The kitchen itself looked to be in use, with several lamps burning, numerous pots simmering on the stoves, and all manner of fruits and vegetables spread out over every available counter and tabletop and piled in baskets on the floor. But a sweep of the nearby tunnels and chambers revealed no hares. Any who'd been here must have hidden themselves very well or else fled through alternate passages at the otters' approach. Either way, the gas would take care of them. As long as they did not try to molest Saybrook's force, they weren't his immediate concern. Smashing the trio of clay containers at wide intervals upon the spacious kitchen floors, they proceeded down to the next level.

By now their eyes were beginning to sting and water. While the majority of the gas did rise upward, it did not limit its spreading to the merely vertical. It expanded in all directions, and faint traces followed the otters as they descended through Salamandastron. The masks they wore would keep them from breathing in the vapors and succumbing to the sleep gas themselves, but they offered no protection to the eyes. Otters could withstand such irritations better than most creatures, but even they were not totally immune to the eye-burning effects of the gas. They would have to avoid areas where the vapors were thickest, every bit as much as the hares would.

At last they reached the next-to-lowest level, where Urthblood had advised them to release the majority of the gas. The otters had just under a score of the jars left to them. Saybrook dispatched scouts to do a quick reconnaisance of the main portion of the level. Finding it clear of defenders, Saybrook snapped off orders for the remaining cannisters to be broken at strategic points throughout the passages so that the maximum amount of gas would find its way up through the mountain's interior.

"This'll do it, lads," Saybrook announced. "After we release this load, our work'll be done fer awhile. We'll take shelter down below in the cellars, an' wait out th' storm there while this sleepy stuff does its job. Should be some doors down there we can close behind us, storerooms an' such, that'll keep out th' worst of any gas that does foller us down. We can use th' time to get our cryin' eyes shipshape again. When I give th' word we'll start back up again, an' then we'll see if we've put these bunnies to sleep properly!"

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Colonel Clewiston rolled out of bed and was pulling on his tunic in one motion. The shrill keening of Gallatin's whistle was still far down the tunnel, but it was a sound not to be ignored. The Colonel himself had instituted the policy of the alarm whistles, and had supervised several drills with them since Urthfist's departure. Every hare currently stationed in the mountain was primed to respond to the noise, even from the deepest of slumbers. No member of the Long Patrol would sleep through the sounding of such an alarm.

The hares slept with their doors open, for just such a situation as this, alert even in their dreams for sounds of trouble or a call to arms. That precaution paid off now, as a dozen long-eared heads stuck themselves out from the various doorways lining the dorm level tunnel.

Clewiston marched out of his room, clutching the short spear he kept at his bedside these days. "Stand ready, group," he said in answer to the questioning eyes turned his way. "I'll just go an' see wot this bally racket's about."

"Isn't this a drill, Colonel?" Melanie asked, her own tunic half-on and javelin in paw.

"Not one that I called, old gel. Stand fast, all of you ... but have your weapons at the ready!" Clewiston loped down the corridor toward the steady, almost-frantic wail of the warning whistle.

He met Gallatin coming around the bend in the tunnel. Paws over his ears to protect his sensitive hearing from the earsplitting noise, the Colonel yelled, "Steady on, Lieutenant! Wot's the matter?"

"Intruders, sir!" Gallatin forced out in gasps, thoroughly winded from his nonstop blowing of the whistle during his upward sprint. "Down in the dining hall!"

"Wot kind o' intruders?"

"Otters, sir! Nearly twoscore, far as I could tell. Definitely soldiers, no doubt about it."

"Fur 'n' whiskers! How th' devil did they get in?"

"Must've overpowered some o' the tunnel guards, is all I can figure," Gallatin said. "Looked t' me like they were comin' down from th' south side entrance."

"The south entrance?" A face appeared over the Colonel's shoulder in the dim corridor, worry furrowing its features. "That's where Givadon and Mizagelle are! I've got t' get down there!" She started to push past the two officers, but they held her back with strong paws.

"You don't wanna go down there, Mel," Gallatin assured her. "They outnumber us by a good toss. We gotta defend the upper levels."

"First we hafta find out where we stand," said Clewiston. "Don't despair, Melanie. At least they weren't searats or weasels or foxes. Otters would be much less likely to slaughter hares unnecessarily ... even otters workin' fer Urthblood, if that's wot these are. I'm sure your gels'll turn out to be just fine. Now, then ... " He turned to Gallatin. "We'll marshal wot forces we got here for a probe down into the lower levels, see how far we can penetrate 'fore we meet any bally resistance. Mebbe we can get those waterdogs to declare themselves, an' then we'll know for sure just who it is we're fightin' - "

Clewiston stopped, sniffing the air. "I say, wot's that smell?"

"Dunno, sir," Gallatin answered. "First started sniffin' it right b'fore I came across them otters. A lot of of 'em were carryin' wot looked like big clay pots or jars. An' they were wearing masks, white things over their mouths 'n' noses."

"Great sweet mother!" Melanie gasped. "They're gonna poison us!"

"Why didn't you say that right off?" Clewiston exclaimed. "Change of plans, then. We'll go up an' out through the top. The enemy's not likely to be there, if they put everything they've got into a side assault through the south entrance. We can link up with the roof sentries, fill 'em in on wot's happenin', then split into two groups to climb back down to the side tunnels from outside. The blighters won't wanna stay inside the mountain if they're fillin' her up with poison, masks or no masks. An' when they try 'n get back out, we'll give 'em a surprise they won't soon forget!"

"Aye, Colonel." Gallatin gently pressured Melanie with a paw, back the way she'd come. "Let's go, Mel. We don't have much time - th' stink of that stuff's gettin' stronger. Best chance for Mizzy an' Givvy now is for us t' go in an' get 'em from the outside."

"Yes, Lieutenant. You're probably right." Melanie let Gallatin guide her up the passage. Her eyes were starting to tear, and not just out of her emotions for her daughters.

The rest were mustered, and their group - thirteen in all - began their run up the stairs and tunnels leading to the roof of the mountain.

After diminishing somewhat during their ascent, the peculiar odor suddenly came back stronger than ever as they made their final approach to the roof.

"Oh, no," Melanie moaned. "They've poisoned this tunnel too!"

"Hold on a sec," Clewiston said. "Can't be sure ... "

Gallatin crept forward ahead of the others, feeling his way through the pitch dark; it was utterly lightless in this highest passage. "Hey, Broyall! Moberly!" he called out, then coughed hard at the fumes drifting his way. No reply came from the blackness ahead of him.

"Think Mel's right, Colonel," he said, recovering as he backed up a step. "But I hafta make sure. I'm gonna take a deep breath an' hold it, then run forward an' feel around ... see if they're even there."

"Good luck, Lieutenant. Hares, let's all shuffle back a few paces, give the Lieutenant room for a bally runnin' start."

They obeyed, while Gallatin drew a deep breath, then sprinted forward as quickly as he dared under these lightless conditions. To his waiting comrades it seemed a small eternity before he returned.

"Phhwew!" he exhaled. "Yowch, my eyes! Those vapors must be thick as porridge up there! Really stings the ol' peepers. Guess I shoulda kept mine closed, but I didn't think of it in time. Don't reckon I'd be able t' see right now, even if there was light here to see by!"

"Wot about the guards?" Clewiston inquired.

"They're there, all right. Both laid out on th' floor. Dead to th' world, but not dead. Sir, I think these vapors're only meant to put us t' sleep."

"Wot?" This idea hadn't occurred to Clewiston.

"They wanna keep us in," Gallatin explained. "When I felt m'self runnin' out of air, I tried goin' up th' stairs to th' roof. There's a heavy cloth spread over the entrance hole, an' I thought I heard voices topside. They mean t' keep us an' that sleepy smoke down here t'gether."

"Well, an attack's an attack, an' we've been invaded," Clewiston said. "No point in goin' back th' way we came, since I'd wager the north side tunnel's been covered too, an' even if it hasn't, we'd prob'ly never make it through those vapors buildin' up behind us. There's only one way out fer us now, hares, an' that's up past that bally tarp an' wotever beasts're guardin' it. How many of us have swords? Or knives?"

Four voices sounded out of the blackness. Most hares of the Long Patrol preferred slings, spears and javelins.

"Right. You four will hafta lead the way. Take a deep breath like Gallatin did, then sprint up th' tunnel an' th' stairs to where our foe's got th' openin' covered. If you can't just push that tarp aside, use yer blades to hack, stab an' slice at it until you cut through it. Then the rest of us'll follow you up."

"It was bein' held pretty tight when I tested it, Colonel," Gallatin said. "An' I think I might've tipped 'em off, too. They might be expectin' us."

"No help for that now, Lieutenant. We're trapped down here unless we can make it out this way. Don't know wot kinda force is up there on the plateau, but they'll shortly have thirteen very angry hares to contend with!"

"That they will!" Melanie seconded angrily.

"Off y' go now!" Clewiston commanded the four with blades. "We'll give you a minute to see wot you can do, then we'll be right behind you. Good luck!"

The quartet inhaled deeply and sped forward, glancing off the walls and stumbling over the two fallen guards until they reached the stairs, almost wide enough for the four of them to climb abreast of one another. Sure enough, they found the tarp as taut and tightly in place as Gallatin had reported. Wielding the blades, they set to work on cutting through before the air in their lungs ran out.

Suddenly and without warning, the tarp was wrenched up and aside, and the sweet wet air of the night swept over them in a wave of fresh relief. So unexpected was this turn of events that it took the four hares a moment to realize they were no longer trapped.

"We're free!" one shouted. "We can - "

"Kreeeaagh!"

Unseen out of the dark night, still almost as dark as the tunnel from which they'd come, came the rush of wind from mighty wings flapping, and the piercing war call of a bird of prey. Immense talons wrapped around the lead hare, lifting him like a rag doll and tossing him back down the stairs. He collided with his three companions, and they tumbled in a tangled heap to the bottom of the stairs.

The otters stepped forward up above, casting their last two jars of sleep oil onto the hard steps. They shattered as one in an explosive din. Then the tarp was dragged once more into place over the entrance, sealing it off from those below.

The four hares were overcome before they could even regain their feet. The other nine, who by this time had started their headlong rush to back up the vanguard, ran right into the newly spreading cloud of dense vapors. The ones in front tripped over those who had already fallen, and went down themselves. The ones bringng up the rear realized what was happening at about the same time as their air supply ran out, and tried in vain to retreat to a part of the tunnel where they might still be able to breathe safely.

None of them made it out of Salamandastron that night.


	33. Chapter 59

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Nine

Through day and night, Urthfist and his eighty-one hares pushed themselves relentlessly across the Western Plains. They ate literally on the run, and their stops for rest were measured in minutes rather than hours. Short on sleep and driven to the brink of exhaustion, they nevertheless pressed on, mindful of their twenty comrades back at Salamandastron who might, against all odds, be holding out somehow against Urthblood's conquering horde. Nobeast among them, tired as they all were, was going to be the first to suggest that they slow their pace or take longer nap breaks.

On their second morning out from Redwall, they found themselves standing upon the north bank of the broadstream opposite the shrew Fitkin's ferry station. The newly-risen sun poured its liquid warmth across their shoulders; a few shreds of cloud scurrying before the fresh winds over the mountain range ahead of them were the only vestiges of the scattered showers that had dampened their previous night's march. The sun felt exceedingly good to them now, helping to dry their sodden fur and clothes and to dispel the chill of the rainy night now past.

The sight before them wasn't nearly so heartening. Directly across the river stood Fitkin's hovel, its collapsed doorway now partly repaired and once more open. The ferry shrew stood in front of his abode, warily regarding his returned nemeses with a mix of ire and apprehension. And, to every hare's dismay, the barge that they had left waiting for them on the north shore, where by all rights it should have been beyond hope of recovery by its owner, sat moored below the anxiously watchful shrew's home on the south banks, quite out of reach of the Badger Lord and his hare army.

Or so it might have been, at any other time. But Urthfist was bound for Salamandastron in utmost haste, and the hounds of Hellsgates themselves would not have deterred him in his purpose. A swift, deep broadstream and an obstinate, uncooperative shrew hardly rated a moment's thought in his tumult-ridden brain.

Urthfist's glare was locked on Fitkin like a vise. "Shrew! We need your boat, now!"

"Y' never paid fer yer last passage!" Fitkin shouted back with forced bravado; even having the wide river between him and the grim badger warrior did not make him feel completely safe. "Let's discuss what you already owe me an' wotcha got t' offer, an' then mebbe I'll consider crossin' over there!"

"What I have to offer?" Urthfist roared. "How does your life and your freedom sound? Delay me here and you may lose both."

Fitkin swallowed nervously. "Threats? Is that all ye're offerin'?"

"It is not I who will take these things away from you," Urthfist called back. "Right now there is a soulless beast trying to make the mountain fortress of Salamandastron his own. If he succeeds, these lands will fall to his tyranny, and his searat allies will overrun Mossflower country with nothing to stop them. They will probably make a slave of you, although if you are lucky they will merely slay you. Now, do you truly value your greedy acquisitions more than your very life? Do not be such a fool. Help us cross, and do it quickly!"

Fitkin gnawed at his lower lip. He owed Urthblood for retrieving his ferry and reopening his toll station. What better way to repay that debt than to hinder Urthfist any way he could?

"Well?" Urthfist demanded from the far bank.

"The only danger I seen 'round here this season's been you," Fitkin snapped back. "If you wanna use my ferry, come 'n' get it yerself, y' big bully!"

For long moments, Fitkin stood shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, waiting to see what Urthfist and his hares did next. The badger glared at him wordlessly for the space of many heartbeats, then turned to his chief hare, speaking low enough so that Fitkin couldn't hear what was said.

"Major, pick four of the Patrols who are the best swimmers among you."

"Swimmers, sir?" Major Safford crossed his ears at this request; to the best of his knowledge, there wasn't a single hare in all the Patrols who'd ever been swimming in the ocean ... which was the only body of water around Salamandastron.

"They won't actually have to swim, if all goes well," Urthfist added, pointing at the guide rope for Fitkin's ferry. It extended across the river, tied at its ends to a pair of heavy posts on either shore. "They can pull themselves along the rope, use it to keep their heads above water and to keep from being carried off by the currents. Once across, they can commandeer that spiteful beast's raft and bring it back here where we can use it."

"Ah!" Safford brightened. "Then you want climbers, not swimmers - hares with strong paws who can grip that bally rope fer all they're worth. Those we got aplenty. An', if you don't mind my sayin' so, sir, two oughtta be enough t' get that barge back over here."

"No doubt," said Urthfist. "But we'll want two others to stay there once they are across, to keep that shrew from causing any trouble."

"Ahh ... gotcha, sir. Right thinkin', that. Okay, lessee who'd be best for this little dip ... "

Fitkin's face fell when he saw what the hares were up to. Four went into the water, one after the other, and began pulling themselves across toward him along the guide rope. They moved rapidly and surely, propelling themselves with their powerful feet under the water as they hauled themselves forward paw-over-paw. The panicky shrew started pacing back and forth in uncertain frustration.

Major Safford watched Fitkin with growing concern. "I say, y' don't s'pose that li'l ripsnort might cut that rope an' cast our buddies adrift, do you?"

"Not very likely, chum," Traveller answered. "Might lose 'is boat too if he does that, an' he seems rather partial to that batch o' moldy planks. Don't think he'd chance it."

Traveller was right. Fitkin still stood fretting as the first hare, Sergeant Traughber, climbed dripping up onto the bank in front of him. "Hoo, boy, am I glad it's th' bally summer!" he said, shaking some of the excess water off himself and onto the shrew before him. "'Tween those raindrops last night an' this blinkin' swim, I don't wanna see any more water 'til we get to th' coastlands!"

He looked down at Fitkin. "Now, you jus' step back, that's a good shrew, an' let us do our ... " Traughber's eyes slipped to the soft ground around Fitkin's footpaws, and went wide with surprise. The tracks of innumerable creatures of all sizes were quite apparent in the soft earth, wiping out the marks that the Long Patrol had left when they'd last been here. "Yowza! Looks like you've had yerself some company since we left you, chappie. Shoulda known you couldn'ta fixed yer ol' homestead an' retrieved yer ferrybucket all on yer own. How many days since that bloody badger an' his horde was through here?"

Fitkin clenched his jaw. "Don't know whatch're talkin' 'bout."

"Oh no? Well then you must be as blind as you are rude." Traughber lent a paw to help his three waterlogged comrades up onto dry land, pointing out to them as he did so the unmistakable signs that Urthblood's army had been here. Together the four of them marched up and down the bank, bent nearly double as they inspected every bit of ground around Fitkin's hovel. Urthfist and the rest watched patiently from the north shore, not begrudging the advance team its thoroughness; nobeast there wanted to walk into an ambush, unlikely as that would be out on these rolling plains.

At last the four scouts came together to confer. "No doubt about it," Traughber concluded. "Urthblood's been this way, an' recent, too. This's the same bally horde wot was by those ruins we stopped at before Redwall. Tracks're clearer here, in spite o' th' rain last night. Looks like that whole gang o' half a thousand is makin' straight for Salamandastron, jus' like we figgered."

One of the others tossed his head over his shoulder toward Fitkin. "Let's ask ol' bossywhiskers how long it's been."

"Already tried," said Traughber, "an' that li'l runt ain't talkin'. C'mon, let's work at gettin' the rest o' us across the blinkin' stream. We'll let Lord Urthfist try his paw at gettin' some answers outta that rudebeast. Dellow, you 'n' me'll stay here an' sit on that shrewfeller ... you other two haul the raft back across to fetch the first load. Might as well get started on that, since it's gonna take awhile."

It ended up taking the remainder of the morning, but this delay wasn't an altogether bad thing. Even Lord Urthfist, obsessed with reaching Salamandastron as quickly as possible, recognized how this unrelenting drive was draining his hares. Since the ferry could only carry ten at a time, calling for a total of eight trips plus a ninth for the weighty Badger Lord, there was plenty of down time spent waiting for turns ... time the Long Patrols used to good advantage, catching naps upon either shore. Turns were also taken guarding Fitkin so that every hare would be able to catch forty winks, although most ended up catching forty more on top of that. Urthfist practically had to order Major Safford and Traveller to take a few minutes' sleep themselves, since both wanted to stay awake to oversee the ferrying job in its entirety. As it was, only the badger warrior forsook any sleep for himself. But in crisis times such as these, it was not unheard of for Badger Lords to go for days without slumber, without losing their sharpness.

As soon as he crossed, Urthfist went over to Fitkin along with Traveller and Safford. "How long since my brother was through here, shrew? Tell me now, and do not lie!"

Fitkin glared balefully up at the mighty beast towering over him. "Yesterday," he answered through gritted teeth.

Urthfist looked to Traveller, but the veteran scout shook his head. "Sorry, M'Lord. Much as I'd love t' believe those blighters've only got a day's lead over us, it's gotta be more than that. Those tracks were at least a day old b'fore they got rained on last night. Prob'ly more."

Urthfist narrowed red-flecked eyes dangerously at Fitkin, while one massive claw squeezed painfully around the shrew's shoulder. "Try again, friend."

"Ow! Okay, okay! Five days! It's been five days! Now leggo, you big bully!"

The badger did not relinquish his grasp, but looked once again to Traveller. This time the old hare merely shrugged.

"Dunno, Lord. Tend t' think it hasn't been that long, but could be. I hope they don't have that big a bally lead on us, but that's just hope, I'm 'fraid."

"If it has been five days, they must have reached Salamandastron at least a day ago." Urthfist glared at Fitkin. "Why do you help my brother, and seek to hinder and confuse us? Have you allied yourself with him?"

The shrew squirmed in Urthfist's visegrip. "Why d' ya think, ya big brute? You come along an' wreck my tollhouse, he fixes it. You strand my ferry where I can't get to it, an' he fetches it back fer me. What'd you do in my place, huh?"

Urthfist's expression went rigid as death. But he released Fitkin. The shrew retreated to the door of his hovel, massaging his sore shoulder.

"Do not try to follow us, or hinder us further, or I will kill you myself," the badger warned with cold menace. "Hares! Assemble at once and prepare to march! We have already wasted too much time here with this corrupted creature!"

It was by now high noon, and the hares of the Long Patrol felt renewed after their naps in the sun. How far this would carry them before their run left them haggard once more, only time would tell.

They were off almost immediately under Urthfist's urging, no hare of the Patrols wishing to appear a laggard in their master's eyes. Behind them dwindled a relieved ferry shrew who had only the vaguest hint of how narrowly he had just escaped death.

00000000000

Colonel Clewiston opened his eyes ...

... then quickly shut them again at the bright sunlight shining into his face.

His first thought was that he had a terrific headache.

His second thought was mystification as to why he'd been asleep sitting so uncomfortably upon the hard stone floor. And why did his paws seem to be bound?

Clewiston's eyes snapped open once more as disjointed memories of the previous night's events sorted themselves out in his throbbing brain. The blinding glare stung the inside of his skull like a swarm of angry wasps in his head. Struggling to see through painfully squinted eyes, he turned himself about so that the sun was not shining directly upon his face.

He was in one of the larger outer rooms of the dorm levels, a common chamber which would normally sleep a number of hares. Now, the beds had been piled back against one wall, leaving most of the floorspace clear.

Well, not entirely clear. The space was cluttered with the forms of hares, some of whom were also just waking and others of whom were still unconscious. Clewiston did a quick count, then breathed a sigh of relief. All twenty were here, and none of them looked to be seriously injured. There were scrapes and bruises in evidence, mainly among the four who'd been tossed around on the top steps during their abortive escape attempt, but nothing worse than that.

Every hare was bound the same: paws behind the back, footpaws tied tightly together at the ankles. It might not have been an impossible task for two of them seated back-to-back to loosen each other's bonds. The biggest stumbling block to such a strategy was the gang of four burly otters standing inside the doorway, watching over the hares with gazes that were unflinching, and javelins at the ready.

The hares who seemed widest awake were those from the two side entrance tunnels. Pondering this through his aching head, Clewiston realized it made sense. Not only had those positions been attacked first, which meant that the Long Patrols guarding them would have had longer to recover from the gas, but the hares who'd been trapped at the roof stairs were caught between the vapors from above and below, exposing them to a double dose of the stuff. Assuming, of course, that the guards at the lower entrances hadn't been overcome by some other means. The Colonel didn't think that very likely; only a sneak gas attack could have overwhelmed them so completely that they wouldn't have time to sound a warning.

What Clewiston couldn't fathom was why Peppertail should seem the widest awake of all. Not knowing that the Sergeant had been with Mizagelle and Givadon during the attack, Clewiston surmised that the hare cook had been down in the kitchens and that the accumulation of the narcotic vapors had been less down in the lower levels.

The Colonel had a lot to catch up on. Unfortunately, it appeared he would have plenty of time for that. In the swamp of questions crowding his mind, one thing was abundantly clear: Salamandastron was now in the clutches of an enemy. And unless otters were now allied with Tratton's searats, Clewiston knew who that enemy must be.

The Long Patrol commander looked across to Peppertail. "Wot's the situation, Sergeant?"

"Just as it jolly well looks, I'm afraid. Guess we're flippin' lucky t' be alive at all ... I thought we was bein' poisoned!"

"So did I. These seadogs must've had some reason t' wanna keep us alive. You look like you've been awake longer'n any o' the rest of us sleepyheads. Has the enemy had anything t' say?"

Peppertail shook his head. "They're a tight-lipped lot, if otters have bloomin' lips at all. Although, when you 'n' some o' the others showed signs o' stirrin', one of 'em leaned out into th' corridor an' called fer something, or somebeast. Gotta feelin' they'll be havin' a chat with us soon 'nuff."

"S'pect you're right, Sergeant. An' I'll wager it won't be a very pleasant gab fer us." Clewiston tested his bonds; straining at them only seemed to make them tighter. "Don't s'pose y' got one o' yer kitchen knives on you, Pepper ol' chum?"

"Sorry, sir. They did a right thorough job o' disarmin' us. Not leavin' anything t' chance, this gang's not."

"They're professionals, all right." Clewiston squinted up at the tall window and the sapphire summer skies beyond. "Wish they hadn't put us in this blinkin' brightness. My head's poundin' like a winter sea storm. Must be from that sleepy stuff those watery rotters dowsed us with."

"Yeah, we're all feelin' it," Peppertail said. "Mine's not so bad now. Goes away after you've been awake for awhile. Mebbe they put us in a room with an open window so's those vapors'd wear off quicker, wotcha think?"

"Could be, Sergeant ... tho' I'd 'magine they'd wanna keep us knocked out for as long as they could." Clewiston regarded the open window. It occurred to him, way too late now to do any good, that perhaps if they'd taken shelter in one of these outer rooms during last night's attack, the gas might not have overwhelmed them so thoroughly, having to compete against the fresh air coming in from the outside. Then again, one look at their otter guards proved that those soldiers had been fully prepared for battle, if it had come to that. If this otter troop really did number twoscore or more, chances would not have favored the Long Patrols ... especially since the otters had been wearing masks, meaning they would have had the advantage in the vapor-clogged passages. Yes, this attack had certainly been well planned, right down to the fact that the defending hares were woefully ill prepared to meet an assault of this unexpected nature, and the mastermind behind it must almost certainly have known that.

Most of them were awake now, to some degree or other, including Lieutenant Gallatin. Clewiston slid across the floor to his second-in-command and filled Gallatin in on all that had been said so far.

"Damn those otters!" the Lieutenant muttered, keeping his voice low so that their guards could not easily overhear. "Only beasts who could've carried out a fur-forsaken invasion like this on such a black 'n' rainy night. Wot I wanna know is, where'd they swim 'ere from, an' where's their reinforcements? Those birds yesterday said there wasn't any force in sight for days in any ... no, wait. There were birds guardin' th' roof when we tried t' get out last night, weren't there?"

Clewiston nodded. "'Spect those feathered feedbags wot raided our gardens yesterday were spies ... advance scouts t' scope out th' lay of th' mountain. An' to think, I was tryin' t' make allies outta them!"

"A good idea, Colonel," Peppertail said. "Unfortunately, our enemy thought of it first."

"Yah," scowled Gallatin. "They even made us tire ourselves out after they left, bringin' everything in from th' gardens. Some real devious thinkin' went into this assault, in a whole lotta ways."

"To be expected, consid'rin' wot beast is prob'ly behind all this." Clewiston glanced up to see two more otters entering from the hall. "Shush, now, everybeast. I think they're 'bout to make introductions."

The two newcomers came into the center of the room, stopping before the large circle of seated and bound hares. One wore the same simple soldierly garb as the others, but his younger companion was garbed in the habit robes of an Abbeybeast. The uniformed one addressed the hares without preamble.

"I'm Captain Saybrook, commander of Lord Urthblood's otter forces. This is Winokur, of Redwall. Which of you is the senior officer here?"

Before Clewiston could even open his mouth, Gallatin shouted out, "I am. Captain Gallatin, at yer service, not that I have much bally choice. If y' got any issues with us, talk t' me, an' leave th' rest o' these fine hares alone. They've done nothin' t' deserve any hardship more'n you've already given 'em."

Clewiston glanced down at himself. The tunic he'd grabbed in the confusion of waking to an alarm in the middle of the night was not the one with his mock epaulets displayed upon the shoulders. The otters would have no way of knowing, by sight alone, that Gallatin wasn't telling the truth.

The otter captain Saybrook grinned at Gallatin. "Don't get yer ears in a knot, Captain. We ain't here t' hurt you. You sit tight just like ye're doin' now, an' this whole crew o' yers'll come outta this just fine, got it?"

"Why'd you take us alive?" Gallatin asked. "Wot d' you want us for?"

"Just followin' orders, same as you would. Lord Urthblood said fer me t' take Salamandastron without bloodshed, if I could, an' told me how to do it. Worked out accordin' to plan, which is just fine by me. His Lordship's comin' here, an' he was under the impression you might not be too happy to see 'im. So, rather than march right up here with his whole army an' risk something unpleasant happenin', he sent my team ahead to look after you an' keep you from doin' anything foolish, mebbe get yerselves hurt. We're just lookin' out fer yer best interests, Cap'n."

"Pardon me if I don't thank you. Tell me, Captain Riverdog, are you a liar, or jus' plain stupid? Our best interests are prob'ly the last thing on Urthblood's mind, an' don't try 'n' convince us otherwise. He's come here t' start a bally war, an' anything else's balderdash 'n' poppycock. Smoke 'n' mirrors. We're soldiers, not some woodland babes you c'n deceive with false comfort. Treat us like the prisoners of war we are, but please, please don't insult us by pretendin' to be our friend."

Saybrook frowned. "Have it yer way. Friends or enemies, makes no difference to me. I'm just doin' my job, not tryin' to win any popularity contests. You hares are the ones who're bound an' on the floor, an' that's the way you'll stay until Lord Urthblood gets here. Pers'nally, I'm a bit disappointed. Been hearin' fer seasons 'bout th' fearsome Long Patrols, but you don't look so tough to me."

Gallatin raised his tethered footpaws before him. "In that case, chap, surely you wouldn't mind slicin' off these blinkin' ropes, wot? We harmless little bunnies'll promise to be good an' not cause any mischief."

"No chance, bobtail. Your food's bein' prepared down in the kitchens. It'll be up shortly. Bon appetit." Saybrook turned to leave. "Come on, Wink. Not much you or I can do here."

The Redwall otter hesitated. "Just a moment, Captain, sir. I'd like to have a word with them, if I may."

"Have at it, matey." Saybrook stood back against the far wall, paws crossed impatiently over his chest. Winokur lowered himself onto his thick tail, taking a seat on the floor across from the hares.

Gallatin gazed over at Winokur. "So you're a Redwaller, eh? Wot's th' situation at the Abbey? We heard there'd been a bloodbath there."

Winokur stiffened. "A bloodbath? When?"

"While Urthblood was there. We heard tell he slew the Abbess, an' all the Abbey leaders."

"What?" The young otter was stunned by this allegation. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You've got it all wrong! He never harmed fur nor feather of anybeast at Redwall. Who's been telling you such things?"

"A hare named Browder," replied Gallatin. "Either he was lyin', or you are. But, seein' as how Urthblood's now almost on our bally doorstep instead of Mossflower where he's s'posed to be, looks like Browder's the culprit, feedin' us false stories so Lord Urthfist would feel obligated t' go an' save Redwall. That bloody badger had us figgered out top t' bottom, no two ways about it. Never woulda suspected that hare fer one o' his spies ... or those two birds either. Guess we all just shoulda stayed put where we were, an' none o' this woulda happened."

Winokur twisted around to look at Saybrook. "Captain, do you know anything about this Browder?"

Saybrook shrugged dismissively. "Met him once or twice, up north. Scatterbrained player of a hare, thought he was th' greatest performer in the lands. Personally, I didn't imagine he could act his way out of a sack, but I guess I was wrong 'bout 'im, if he fooled a Badger Lord an' the Long Patrol. Didn't know he had anything to do with this mission, though. But if he really did get fourscore of these hares outta here fer me 'n' my crew, I owe him one hearty pawshake an' a debt of thanks when next I see him."

Winokur looked back to the hares. "Well, at least you're all safe and unharmed, and Lord Urthblood won't have to fight his way in here. Everything could turn out fine after all."

Gallatin glared at Winokur. "Wot's a Redwaller doin' on th' side o' that bloody beast anyway? If you really are a Redwaller ... "

"Oh, I am, I am," Wink assured them. "And I'm not on his side, not really. I wasn't a part of this assault, you know. Captain Saybrook here made me wait outside on the beach while he captured Salamandastron. The Abbess sent me along as a mediator. A peacemaker. My job is to stop this war before it begins, if I can. If there's real fighting ahead, I'm sworn not to be a part of it, for either side. I have the leave of Abbess Vanessa to negotiate with you, or directly with Lord Urthfist. I suppose I'll be meeting him soon enough. I mean, once he gets to Redwall and sees there's been no trouble there, he'd have no reason not to come straight back here, right?" A shadow of worry crossed the otter's face. "Uh, just what kind of mood was he in when he left Salamandastron, anyway? He's not likely to cause any trouble back at Redwall himself, is he? I confess that is something that was worrying the Abbess. You'd be doing me a great favor if you could assure me he's not of a mind to harm any of my friends back at the Abbey."

"Lord Urthfist would never harm goodbeasts," Gallatin stated with certainty.

"Um, what do you call 'goodbeasts?'" asked Winokur. "'Cos Urthblood left all his foxes behind at Redwall, along with a score of other beasts you might call vermin - rats and weasels. Do you think that might have any bearing on his disposition?"

Gallatin furrowed his brow. "Well, that might be a bit of a pickle, friend. Lord Urthfist won't be any too happy when he finds out he's been tricked, an' Redwall never did fall. His mood could turn downright nasty if he sees there are still troops of his brother's in the Abbey. Why'd your Abbess agree to have 'em there, anyway?"

"Well, after everything Urthblood told us, we were more concerned with what Urthfist might do than we were with anything else. The foxes and the others stayed behind to help defend the Abbey in case Urthfist showed up and tried to start trouble."

"Sounds t' me like His Bloodiness has got the Abbess an' the rest o' you lot twined right around his pinky paw. Quite a mess you've gone an' gotten yerselves into."

"That we've gone and gotten into?" Winokur echoed incredulously. "I hardly think that's a fair way of putting it. It's not like we went and asked feuding badgers and their troops to start showing up at our gates. This was all rather thrust upon us, you know."

They were interrupted at that moment by another otter who ran in from the corridor to report to Saybrook. "Cap'n, we just sighted th' main army, marchin' in from th' south. Should be here before sundown."

"By sundown, eh? Lord Urthblood must've moved 'em out before dawn. Good news, mateys. The sooner they get here, th' better I'll feel."

The other otters clearly agreed with their captain, but the faces of the Long Patrol hares grew even longer at this news. They obviously dreaded Urthblood's arrival; they were convinced that the badger had some nasty fate in mind for them, and the presence of so many more of the enemy would further crush any chance they might have of escaping, or even taking back Salamandastron ... not they had much chance of doing that now, against Saybrook's otters.

Winokur regarded the hares hopefully. "Well, you'll all see soon enough that Lord Urthblood's not the terrible ogre you seem to think he is. He can be quite a fair-minded beast, as a matter of fact. You've nothing to fear from him ... he actually went out of his way to make sure you didn't come to any harm. So you see, things aren't as bad as you're making them out to be."

Clewiston gave Winokur a stone hard look. "I think you'd better leave now, Redwaller."

"Well, I was hoping we could talk a while more, maybe get a few points squared away before Urthblood gets here ... "

"We won't be very good company," Clewiston growled. "Not in much of a chattin' mood, don'tcha know." If it was possible for a bound and captive creature to radiate menace, the Colonel did so now.

"Well, um ... well, then." Winokur stood abruptly and followed Saybrook out into the tunnel beyond.

The otter captain, who had witnessed the exchange, remarked to Winokur, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that cranky old hare's their commander, an' not that Gallatin fella."


	34. Chapter 60

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty

The sinking sun kissed the ocean horizon as Urthblood halted his army near the south foot of Salamandastron. Last evening at this hour, he had not even briefed his otters on their mission. Now, the mountain was successfully captured, the Long Patrol force was safely subdued, and he stood on the threshold of setting foot inside the home where he had not dwelt for twenty seasons.

Captain Klystra had flown down to rendezvous with his master during the morning leg of the march, while Salamandastron still stood as a dim and distant flat-topped cone upon the north horizon. The falcon was able to report the success of Saybrook's mission, which the Badger Lord greeted with a matter-of-fact nod, as if Urthblood had expected nothing else. Having delivered his news, Klystra flew north again to rejoin Halpryn and the otters in the defense of the fortress.

Urthblood pushed his troops hard that day, their march made all the more difficult by the shifting, sandy soil beneath their paws. Walking became somewhat easier the farther north they got, since there it had rained harder during the night and the damp sand was more compacted and less yielding to their footsteps. Still, it was draining progress, and at the pace Urthblood set, the soldiers' leg muscles were complaining by the time they came to stand at the base of Salamandastron.

With the otters away on their lead assault mission, Urthblood had placed the mouse squad of Captain Abellon at the head of the column. This assured that the pace was not too punishing for the smaller beasts with their shorter legs. Only the shrews were noticeably smaller than the mice, and their more energetic nature made up for their shorter strides. Still, it was one tired army that ended their march that evening.

Urthblood turned and called above the heads of the mouse brigade for Captain Mattoon to join him. Jogging around Abellon's troops to reach his badger master, the weasel commander skidded to a halt in the sand and snapped off a quick half-salute to Urthblood.

"I would ask that you all remain here while I enter Salamandastron first," Urthblood told Abellon and Mattoon. "This is my return to my ancestral home for the first time in so long, I feel it is only proper that I enter alone. I will send word when I want you to follow."

"Ah," Mattoon nodded. "Sorta a symbolic homecomin', right?"

"Yes. It would be more symbolic still if I could march in through the main entrance facing the sea, but Captain Saybrook says it is so solidly cemented shut that it may take a season to open it up again. So, I will follow the route that the main assault force took last night when they captured the mountain. The entrance is up there," Urthblood pointed, "not quite halfway up the south face. That might as well be the way for the rest of you to come in as well, since it is lower than the north tunnel mouth."

"Yes, sir," said Abellon, "but that's still a pretty fair height. The moles won't be too happy about making that climb. I can't quite see that opening from down here, but I'm guessing it gets easier to see once we start climbing, right?"

"It is somewhat hidden," Urthblood nodded. "I will have one of the birds or some of the otters stand outside to show you the way. But I want to inspect the inside of Salamandastron myself before it becomes crowded with troops. It will be a very special time for me, and I would prefer not to have distractions."

"We understand," Abellon and Mattoon said almost as one.

Urthblood started up the slope before them. "Put the troops at rest, Captains. I'm sure they will want to get off their feet. Take your evening meal break where you are. I'll send word when you are to enter the mountain."

"Uh, how long d' you suppose that'll be, M'Lord?" asked Mattoon.

"Not until after dark," Urthblood called over his shoulder. "In the meantime, light no fires. We are on the open coast now, and searats can see far across the water."

00000000000

Urthblood's tour of the mountain's interior lasted well into the evening.

He visited every part of Salamandastron, from the lowest cellars and storerooms to the roof plateau, from which he surveyed the twilit coastlands all around him. He'd declined both Saybrook's and Winokur's offers to accompany him on his rounds, preferring to amble the passages in solitude. The otters had had a day to explore the layout of the fortress and acquaint themselves with it, but Urthblood had spent many seasons of his youth here, and it was obvious as he navigated the innumerable twisting tunnels that this confusing multilevel maze was like an old friend to him. Never once did the otters of the advance force see him make one misstep or display the slightest hint of uncertainty. Lord Urthblood had come home.

The only passage he studiously avoided was the one that passed the room where the score of Long Patrol were being held. He wasn't ready to meet with them just yet.

The odor and eye-stinging essence of the Flitchaye gas lingered, despite the otters' best efforts to air out the mountain. Halpryn and Klystra had spent most of the day flapping the tarp up and down over the roof stairs entrance to help along the natural updraft that flowed through Salamandastron. Saybrook's squad had gone around the perimeter tunnels on all levels, taking down any drapes or coverings over the outer windows in order to improve ventilation. Even so, it would probably take another night and day for the atmosphere with Salamandastron to clear.

At last Urthblood instructed Kylstra to fly down to the waiting army and inform them they could enter the mountain.

It was full dark by this time, but none of the soldierbeasts had gone to sleep after their evening meal, knowing the call to move might come at any time. Abellon and Mattoon took charge, lining up the troops into a proper column with the help of the other captains. A small group of otters emerged to stand outside the tunnel mouth with torches and lanterns, as a guide for the climbers. Fortunately it was a cloudless night, with a strongly glowing three-quarter moon and a sky full of stars making their ascent far less treacherous than it would have been on the previous night.

Half a thousand armed troops was more than Salamandastron had housed in many generations. Urthblood began setting duty assignments even as the Northlanders were still streaming in. The mole corps was sent down to occupy the lowest cellar levels, along with Tillamook's hedgehogs. Bremo's shrews and Saybrook's otters were given domain over the kitchens, although for now most of the burly otters remained on guard in the passages around the hares' detention chamber. The rat platoon of Captain Cermak was encamped on the plateau, where they would hold the roof of the moutain along with the two birds of prey. The other rat brigade, of Captain Lorsch, joined Abellon's mouse batallion in the now-empty Long Patrol quarters, and also patrolled the forge room level. Lastly, Mattoon's weasels, Perrett's ferrets, and Bandon's stoats were stationed in the main dining hall and the chambers and passages immediately around it.

By the time all the squads were in place, any hare who did manage to escape would have been very hard pressed indeed to find even a single tunnel that was free of Urthblood's forces. Not that Saybrook's otters were about to let any of the Long Patrol escape from their holding cell.

Fourteen cannisters of the Flitchaye oil remained intact. Urthblood had them placed down in the main armory, along with all the weapons they'd removed from the sleeping hares. Then the heavy armory door was triple bolted and locked, and placed under heavy guard. Urthblood's own troops carried all the arms and ammunition they needed, and he wanted to make sure the hares would have no access to their weapons - or the sleep gas. The havoc they could create if they were to get their paws on the remaining supply might be enough to let them recapture Salamandastron, or at least part of it.

Finally, the badger warrior deemed all was as prepared as he could make it. Although the hour was quite late, he ordered the shrews and otters to come up with the most extravagant dinner they could prepare from the larders on short notice, and sent for some appropriate wine or spirits from the cellars where the hedgehogs presided. Then he went up to see his hares.

00000000000

With the door to their room being kept open, the hares of the Long Patrol were well aware when Urthblood's army entered Salamandastron. If the Badger Lord had made himself scarce around his prisoners, his soldiers had no such misgivings. And so it was that Clewiston and his comrades were treated to an almost nonstop parade of rats and mice filing along the corridor past them: first Cermak's squad winding its way up to the plateau, then Lorsch's rats and Abellon's mice on their way to the hares' dormitory levels.

"Egads, but there sure are a lot o' them blighters!" Melanie remarked. "Don't suppose they're just marchin' th' same ones past us over 'n' over, t' make us think there's more of 'em than there really are?"

"Wouldn't put such tactics past His Bloodiness," said Clewiston. "But in this case, I don't reckon so, Mel. Remember, Traveller told us Urthblood brought a whoppin' big horde down from the Northlands with him. I'll wager the whole kit 'n' caboodle's here at Salamandastron right now."

"Yah," Peppertail scowled. "That lot o' vermin an' nastybeasts, traipsin' through our home easy as y' please an' stinkin' it all t' Hellsgates, while we're stuck in here, stewin' in our own juices! Where's th' bally justice, I ask?"

"Did you see those rats?" Mizagelle shuddered. "Walkin' nightmares, wot? Never thought I'd see such frightful critters roamin' our hallowed halls."

"Rats I expected," said her sister Givadon. "It's those mouse fellers wot give me the shivers. Regular little demon mice, they looked like. I thought they were all s'posed t' be meek 'n' peaceful folk, mice were."

"Mebbe they was just little pygmy rats?" Mizagelle speculated.

Givadon scoffed. "Sis, can'tcha tell th' bally difference 'tween mice an' rats?"

"Well, I was just s'posin', Givvy!"

There came the sound of more beasts coming along the passage; the hares momentarily fell silent to take in the latest part of this parade.

The otter captain Saybrook ducked into the room and quickly stepped aside. The hulking figure in red armor that strode smoothly in after him needed no introduction. Several of the hares actually slid back fearfully on the floor as Urthblood came to stand over them like a bully child presiding over toys stolen from an infant.

The badger surveyed the twenty hares in silence for some moments, scrutinizing them as if he were peering into their souls. So overpowering was his presence that none of the Patrols even contemplated breaking the silence.

Saybrook moved up alongside Urthblood and pointed to Gallatin. "This one's their chief, M'Lord."

Urthblood studied Gallatin impassively. "I doubt that," he rumbled, fastening his gaze upon the older hare next to the one Saybrook had indicated. "Clewiston. I remember you. You had just made Captain when I left Salamandastron. Your rank must be considerably higher by now. Tell me, what is it?"

Some implacable undercurrent in the badger's conversational tone compelled Clewiston to speak truthfully. "Colonel."

Urthblood nodded. "And my brother is not one to bestow the rank of General to anybeast in his service. I assume, then, this would make you the supreme commander of all the Long Patrols?"

"Yes ... yes, it would."

"Very good. Then we have much to discuss." Urthblood produced a dagger from somewhere within his armor, stooped down and deftly sliced the rope free from Clewiston's footpaws. "Please turn around, Colonel."

Clewiston, too taken off guard by this turn of events to protest or resist, obeyed. Urthblood gave another slice, and Clewiston's forepaws came free from behind his back. Clewiston spun himself on the floor until he again faced the badger.

Urthblood gave the knife to Saybrook, then took Clewiston by the paw and helped the hare to his feet. "My apologies, Colonel, for this treatment. But I have heard things of late to suggest that I might not be welcome at Salamandastron these days ... things which lead me to believe I perhaps should have returned here long before now."

Clewiston regarded Urthblood, at a loss. This was not how he'd envisioned the first contact between the captured Long Patrol and their conquerer. "Wot is it you want from us?" he asked bluntly.

"What does any Lord of the Mountain want from the hares of the Long Patrol?" Urthblood motioned for Clewiston to accompany him out of the chamber. "I've had a late dinner prepared for us, Colonel. If you will please join me down in the main hall, we can talk things over. I regret that, for the moment, your companions will not be able to share your freedom. Until you and I have a chance to discover exactly how matters stand between us, I am afraid they will have to remain as they are now. Not particularly dignified, but perhaps you and I can change that."

Clewiston stepped over to the doorway, then paused and looked back at the other nineteen hares. "Just tell me," he asked of Urthblood, "is this going to be the last time I see them?"

"The fact that you are even asking such a question demonstrates why I am needed here ... and why it is so essential that we talk. Trust me, Colonel, you will be rejoining your companions as soon as the two of us finish our discussion. Whether they will be free is up to you."

00000000000

Most of the weasels, stoats and ferrets were cleared out of the dining hall for Urthblood's dinner with Colonel Clewiston. Just enough remained seated around the side tables to remind the hare commander who was in charge of Salamandastron now.

Urthblood took the big chair at the head of the long main table - naturally so, since it was the only one large enough to accommodate a badger of his size. If the Colonel, who was seated at Urthblood's right paw, harbored any great distress at the mountain's new master claiming the chair that had previously been Urthfist's own, Clewiston did not indulge himself more than a disapproving glance or two. He saved most such dour looks for some of his fellow diners with whom he shared the table.

Most of Urthblood's captains had been invited to join them. Winokur, Warnokur and Saybrook sat to the badger's left, followed by Mattoon, Perrett and Bandon. To Clewiston's right were Abellon, Bremo and Tillamook. Only the Foremole and the two rat captains were absent, attending to other duties. His position had Clewiston facing the three vermin, and he was clearly unenthused by their presence.

The shrew cooks had managed to throw together an oversized vegetable pie, chock full of steaming carrots, potatoes and mushrooms in a thick, hearty gravy. Spicy hot apple bread was served on the side, and a pitcher of beetroot wine stood amidst it all, big enough to fill every beaker and goblet at the table.

"So tell me, Colonel," Urthblood began, sipping at some wine but touching none of the food, "why does my brother fortify my own home against me?"

Clewiston had shown no interest in either the food or the drink. "I'd say that nasty stunt you pulled last night with those otters is answer enough, wot?"

"That was just a precaution, and one that should not have been necessary in the first place. I am the rightful Lord of Salamandastron. For the past score of seasons I have been too busy elsewhere to reside here. I had always assumed that I was leaving the Lordship of the mountain in capable paws, that I could ask for no caretaker better than Urthfist to stand as steward in my absence. Now I am returned, only to find that the hares of the Long Patrol are turned against me and that my own brother would make war with me. How has this come to pass?"

Clewiston gave a barking laugh of ridicule. "Ha! You actually have to ask?"

"I am asking. The answer seems obvious to you, but I do not see it. Please indulge me, and explain this ... for my benefit."

The Colonel erected his ears and straightened his whiskers, attempting to look more formal, as a proper officer should. "The answer's upstairs, carved into the rock wall, right where you left it twenty seasons ago. If you haven't got a clue, stroll on up there an' read it fer yourself. That'll make it all pretty clear fer you."

Urthblood actually looked surprised. "My prophecy?"

"Why, of bally course your prophecy!" Clewiston slapped the tabletop. "Wot, you thought it was some secret? That Lord Urthfist wouldn't go an' read it himself? Well, read it he did, right after you went runnin' off like a madbeast. Nearly broke his everlovin' heart, readin' wot you were destined for, wot bally trouble you were gonna cause th' lands. He cared fer you, sir, he really did. We all did. Hardest thing we ever had t' do, acceptin' that you were lost to us, given over to a fate of evil. T'was hardest of all for Lord Urthfist, comin' to terms with th' fact that his own brother was now the enemy of all decent creatures. But, in the end, we did wot had to be done. Wasn't easy, but doin' the right thing very often isn't."

"This is what my brother told you my prophecy says?"

"Well, isn't it?" Clewiston challenged.

"No, it is not. Colonel, have you ever read it yourself?"

"Oh, that's a corker! You know full well it's writ in that bloomin' Badger Script o' yers that nobeast else can make heads or tails outta. But I don't hafta read it. Lord Urthfist told me wot it says, an' his word's good 'nuff for me!"

Urthblood's eyes lost their focus. "Reading my prophecy did nearly drive me insane, so great was its doom. But I recovered, pulled myself back from the brink of madness. It would seem my brother was not so lucky. He was not strong enough to bear the burden of destiny these times have placed upon us. I had feared he might have developed a lust for power, a desire to keep the throne of Salamandastron to himself for his own sake. But the truth is much worse than that, I see now. The prophecy has made him mad."

Clewiston half rose from his chair. "Don't you talk about Lord Urthfist like that, you bloody murderer! If either of you is insane, it's you!"

Urthblood held up a paw. "Sit down, Colonel. Calm yourself."

Glaring at the badger, Clewiston lowered himself fully back into his seat.

"I tell you now, Colonel, my brother is wrong. About me, and about my prophecy. Assume for the moment that I am correct in this. Can you not see that he has had twenty seasons to make his madness seem like reason to you? Of course you will see me as evil, if he has been telling you so every day for these past five years, and there has been nobeast here to say otherwise."

"But there was," Clewiston said. "You remembered me just fine, so you must recall old Traveller as well."

Urthblood nodded. "Not so old when I knew him - fastest hare in the Patrols. I've had reports of him up in the Northlands down through the seasons, but every time I sent scouts out to fetch him, he shied away like he was eluding an enemy. That always puzzled me. Now I know why he acted as he did."

"Lord Urthfist sent Traveller out to keep track of you, shortly after you left Salamandastron," said Clewiston. "We heard enuff from him over the seasons about wot you've been up to. So it hasn't just been one badger's say-so that's made us see you as our enemy. Traveller's seen your evil deeds himself, an' told us all about them. So you can knock off this innocent act you're puttin' on, 'cos that tripe gets stuck in my gullet, frankly."

Urthblood leaned forward. "Name some of these ... evil deeds, if you would be so kind, since I am not aware of them myself."

"Well, we could start with that tribe o' shrews you massacred ... "

"They were slavers," Urthblood said curtly.

"Yah ... an' I s'pose their babes 'n' ladyfolk you slaughtered were thieves an' plunderers too, wot?"

"I was overcome with the Bloodwrath. No badger can control itself in such a state. I have since trained myself not to succumb to such mindless rages. Can the same be said for my brother?"

"Lord Urthfist never murdered infants," Clewiston shot back. "An' I genuinely hope he hasn't forgotten how t' rouse the Bloodwrath in him, if he ever meets up with some o' these beasts y' got workin' for you." He pointedly eyed the three vermin sitting across from him.

"So far you have dwelt upon one mistake, which is common knowledge among my followers in the Northlands, and which I would undo if I could. What are some of my other supposed atrocities?"

"Wot about all them decent beasts you killed in your various campaigns? Accordin' to Traveller, that happened so many times, I won't even try t' name specific instances."

"My campaigns have all been against slavers and other evildoers," Urthblood said. "Or has Traveller neglected to mention that minor detail? The Northlands are a harsh place, and can only be tamed by harsh methods. Perhaps a beast who has never been there cannot fully appreciate this. If any goodbeasts were caught in the middle of these battles, they were not placed there by me."

"But they end up just as dead, wot? An' then there's your habit of marchin' into settlements an' takin' 'em over, without givin' th' creatures who dwell there any say in the bally matter."

"That does not happen. I have never forced any creature to live under my rule who does not want to. I merely offer goodbeasts a choice between the hard life they have always known, and the opportunity for something better. Most accept what I offer. But I do not impose my will upon anybeast. Traveller might have seen that for himself, if he'd bothered going to Noonvale."

Clewiston's upright ears waggled at that name. "Why, I'm mighty surprised you brought that up before I did. Yes, let's do talk about Noonvale. Most peace-lovin' bunch o' folks you'd ever wanna meet, an' now you've got 'em all blocked in an' livin' under a blinkin' state o' siege!"

For the second time Urthblood's face showed surprise. He turned away from Clewiston to look at Saybrook. "Do I have Noonvale under siege, Captain?"

The otter regarded Clewiston with set jaw. "No, Lord, you do not. We went there askin' their alliance, an' they refused us. So we withdrew an' left 'em to themselves. They're not under siege."

Urthblood nodded and turned back to Clewiston. "So there you - "

But Saybrook wasn't finished. Interrupting his badger master, which ordinarily would never occur to him, he went on, "I'm one o' th' Broadstream otters who've protected Noonvale's southern borders fer more generations than anybeast c'n remember. An' I resent you sayin' we ain't been square with those folks. Whadda you know about such things, hare? This Traveller bucko o' yers is just plain wrong, an' you offend me by repeatin' such accusations in me presence!"

Warnokur laid a paw on Saybrook's shoulder. "Steady on, Cap'n. Don't wanna get so hot we can't speak reasonable ... "

Even as Warnokur sought to soothe his commander, the shrew captain Bremo indignantly picked up on Saybrook's protest.

"He's right! This hare don't know what he's goin' on about! Got it all wrong 'bout Noonvale, an' sounds t' me like 'ee's got just about everything else wrong, too! I say 'ee should shut 'is gob 'til he learns how ta tell th' difference 'tween truth an' lies!"

Clewiston said to Urthblood, "If you rolled me out here jus' so yer troops could have a jolly yell at me, I'd rather you tied me up again an' put me back with my hares."

"That would achieve nothing." Urthblood held up a paw to quiet his captains. "Bremo, Saybrook, enough. We will not gain anything here with heated words."

Shrew and otter shut up.

Urthblood turned back to Clewiston. "Perhaps this is after all just some huge misunderstanding, and I am wrong about Urthfist. I would certainly like to think so. If he has so completely misinterpreted my endeavors in the north, then it is possible he has done the same with my prophecy. Would that he were here to explain himself."

"But he's not, is he?" the hare accused. "He went runnin' off to Redwall on some bally goosechase, thanks to that lyin' spy o' yours. Just another devious an' cowardly deed to add to th' jolly list, wot?"

Winokur looked to Urthblood. "Yes, My Lord, I heard these hares talking about this earlier. Do you know about this Browder fellow?"

"I used Browder to save lives," the badger stated simply, "and I will make no apologies for employing such tactics. I would have come to Salamandastron no matter what, and it appears my brother had these hares prepared to defend this mountain to the death. Against me, the rightful ruler here. Would you have really done so, Colonel?"

"To the last hare," Clewiston said defiantly.

"Then my use of Browder is clearly justified, even to you. I cannot believe you would have preferred to be slain in battle rather than alive and well, as you are now."

"Alive and well ... and your prisoners."

"A situation you seem unwilling to change, Colonel. It is within your power to do so. The choice is yours."

"Wot, if we sell our bally souls to you?"

"I am not the devil."

Clewiston gave Urthblood's crimson armor a once over. "Coulda jolly well fooled me."

"You are overlooking one thing, Colonel. I am the legitimate ruler of Salamandastron. The hares of the Long Patrol are sworn to serve the Lords of the Mountain, for the protection of the coastlands and the lands beyond. This is the way it has always been. Are you going to be the first to break that compact? I can sit on the throne here, but I alone cannot safeguard all the coast, as is my duty, without the Long Patrol. Would you turn your back on your duty? I am not asking you to do anything more - or less - than you did for my brother: to serve Salamandastron as the Long Patrol always have, according to tradition. I do not think I am asking too much."

"You want us ... to serve you?"

"Yes."

Clewiston pulled at his lower lip. "Well, you're smack right 'bout one thing. We are sworn to honor an' obey th' Lord o' this jolly old mountain. We got ourselves such a Lord, an' it ain't you. You gave up any right to rule here when you ran off twenty seasons ago. Our loyalty's with Lord Urthfist. If that doesn't suit you, maybe you should just go away."

"On the contrary, Colonel, I see that I should have returned to Salamandastron long before now, since it appears my brother has become totally unfit to rule here."

This comment persuaded Clewiston to touch his wine at last. The Colonel picked up his brimful goblet and cast its entire contents into Urthblood's face.

"How dare you!" Clewiston chastised. "Sendin' yer otters sneakin' in like thieves in th' night with that sleepy stuff, puttin' us t' sleep instead o' facin' us in an honest fight ... after you got that liar Browder to lure most of us away with th' vilest of falsehoods. Then you march in here, bringin' along all yer stinkin' vermin wot have no place bein' in this noble place t'all. I don't hafta know anything about yer blinkin' prophecy or wot you've been up to in the north ... I've seen enuff with my own eyes. You are the most cowardly and shameless beast I've ever known or heard tell of. And now you have the colossal gall to declare a truly honorable beast unfit! How dare you!"

Urthblood's voice held no rage as he responded, casually mopping the wine from his face with a napkin.

"And how dare you, Colonel, show such disrespect to the badger who now sits on the throne of Salamandastron. What do you know of my responsibilities, placed upon my shoulders by the forces of destiny twenty seasons ago? What do you know of the affairs of Badger Lords - our lore, our history, the secret longings and passions that stir within our hearts? What do you know of the future, Colonel? I have seen it. Not just once, when I added my accursed prophecy to the throne room wall, but many times since. I know more than anybeast alive of the doom soon to beset us. You were willing to kill me, and sacrifice yourselves, rather than let me inside Salamandastron. I took great pains not to harm you, not because it was easier for me, but because the goodbeasts of the lands will need every able defender they can get to meet the coming crisis. I alone have gazed upon the face of calamity; everything I do is geared to prepare the lands for upheaval such as they have never seen before. Who are you to say that what I am doing is wrong, or second-guess my motives? You, who have no idea of the enormity of the destiny that weighs upon my soul my every waking moment. Captain Bremo was right: you should not speak about what you don't know, Colonel."

Clewiston stood and took a step away from the table. "I know enough not to trust anybeast who'd ally itself with searats!"

A bemused non-smile came to Urthblood's face. "You think I am allied with Tratton?"

"Well, aren't you?"

"No. I am not. And if these are the kinds of things my brother would have you believe, then I will say again that he is unfit to rule Salamandastron, and dangerously so. I would like nothing better than to return to the Northlands, where much work still awaits me. But I will not leave this situation as it stands now. I must know that I can count upon Salamandastron for support in my efforts. And I will stay here until I can be sure of that."

"Yah," Clewiston grumbled, "I kinda figgered on that."

Urthblood waved a paw. "Captain Saybrook, please escort this hare back to the others."

The otter stood. "What if he gives us any problem about gettin' his paws bound again?"

"He can remain unbound."

"But ... then he'll be able to untie all the others!"

"He's free to do so. Shut the door to their room and lock it, and post guards outside. But I will not subject these creatures to the indignity of being bound any longer. It is enough that we have to keep them under lock and key at all."

He looked to Clewiston. "Think about what I said here, Colonel. My offer stands, and the course of events can take surprising turns."

"I'm not going to change my mind. Sir."

"Just think about it. Good night, Colonel."

Saybrook and two of Mattoon's weasels ushered Clewiston out of the dining hall. Winokur said to Urthblood, who was still wiping at his wine-dampened armor, "Well, My Lord, those hares certainly do seem dead-set against you. What do you make of all this?"

"I have more work to do here than I'd anticipated. Captain Abellon," Urthblood pointed at the plentiful remains of the vegetable pie, "have the rest of that taken up to the Long Patrol after Saybrook gets the Colonel settled in. They haven't eaten since they woke up, and I will not deprive them of food or drink. Make sure they are supplied with plenty of both. I will treat them decently, even if it kills them."


	35. Chapter 61

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-One

Clewiston began untying his comrades as soon as the door to their room was shut and locked behind him. As he worked he filled them in on all that had been said between him and Urthblood. The other hares couldn't believe what they were hearing.

"He actshully expects us t' serve him?"

"Like we serve ol' Lord Urthfist?"

"Oh, that'd be a nice betrayal!"

"Colossal cheek, if y' ask me!"

"Sounds t' me like he's every bally bit deranged as he is evil."

"Or jus' plain stupid!"

"T'weren't no stupid beast wot captured Salamandastron right out from under us, that's fer sure!"

"But, oh, wot nerve! Sayin' such rotten an' disrespectin' things 'bout good old Urthfist, then askin' us t' come over t' his side!"

"With all those stinkin' vermin o' his!"

"Wouldn't Lord Urthfist just love findin' that when he gets back! That'd be a fine how-do-you-do!"

"I hope Urthblood at least got down on one knee an' said 'pretty please' to you, Colonel."

Clewiston shook his head. "Beggin's not Urthblood's style, Pepper ol' chum. Not sure yet just wot is. Wasn't expectin' that scene to play out th' way it did. Honestly, it's been so long since I knew that badger, an' we've heard such horrible things 'bout him, I didn't know wot he was gonna be like. I couldn't tell how much of wot he was sayin' was lies an' how much might be some real delusion, but he's actin' like a beast who's got right on his side. As if wot he's doin' is proper an' decent. I'll tell you one thing, he's used to gettin' wot he wants - an' he's got all them other creatures, otters, rats, mice, weasels, shrews, ferrets, hedgehogs an' stoats, all believin' he's some kinda savior, gonna protect 'em from some terrible crisis! Wait'll they find out he's the blinkin' crisis!"

"Used to gettin' wot he wants, eh?" Peppertail snickered. "I'll wager he didn't want no wine in his face, but that's wot you gave 'im, Colonel. An' a good show of it, I say!"

"Wish I'd been there t' do it m'self," lamented Gallatin.

Mizagelle broke in with a more sobering thought. "Do you think he's gonna kill us, sir? If we refuse t' cooperate?"

"I don't rightly know, Mizzy m'gel. But I didn't suppose he'd let us live even this long, so there's still cause fer hope, wot?" The Colonel glanced around at the now-liberated hares, most of whom stood flexing and stretching. "Am I correct in assumin' that cooperatin' with Urthblood is right outta th' question fer all of us here?"

The hares all looked at one another, to see if any among them might consider such traitorous thoughts. After some moments Gallatin declared, "We'd rather eat our bally spears than give Urthblood that satisfaction!"

"Hear hear!"

"You said it, Lieutenant!"

"Too bad spears is one thing we don't have," bemoaned Peppertail, "'cos I could think of much better things to do with mine than eat it!"

The door lock clicked loudly, and the hares fell silent as their prison gate swung slowly inward with a drawn-out creak. A single unarmed mouse entered, staggering under the burden of the leftover vegetable pie. Four otters, very much armed, stood behind him, blocking the way to the corridor.

The soldier mouse set the cauldron-size crock down in the middle of the floor. "Compliments of Lord Urthblood," he said cheerily as he backed out of the chamber. "Hope you enjoy it, 'cos my mice haven't eaten that well since we left Redwall." The otters parted for him, and the door slammed shut again.

Peppertail leaned over the crock, sniffing. "Sure does smell appetizin', but it's half et! Hardly 'nuff here fer a proper regimental scoff, but I guess it's all we're gonna get. How'd it taste, Colonel?"

"Can't rightly say, Pepper ol' sport. Wasn't in much of an eatin' mood, sittin' with Urthblood an' his vermin, so I didn't have any before."

"Oh, then that must've been your stomach I heard rumblin'. Thought it was mine!"

Clewiston smirked. "Yah, I guess we're all due fer some tucker, so may's well tuck in!"

"You don't reckon it's been poisoned, do you?" Melanie wondered, sniffing at the pie herself with furrowed brow.

The hares stood silently regarding the cooling half-pie for some moments.

"Well, we gotta eat," Clewiston said at last. "Keep up th' reserves, an' all that. I don't believe Urthblood's finished with us yet. He wants something from us, otherwise we'd be dead already. We can't starve ourselves, in case a chance t' fight or escape does come our way. So, let's dig in!"

As they ate, tentatively at first but then with increased enthusiasm, Melanie said to Clewiston, "Y'know, Colonel, wot we were talkin' about before, it gives me an idea."

"Wot's that, Mel?"

She kept her voice low in case the otter guards outside had their ears to the door. "I know there's no way we can consider cooperatin' with Urthblood, we're all agreed on that. But wot if we only pretended to cooperate? Tell him we've decided to follow his orders, at least until Urthfist gets back? You said yourself, he wants something from us. Mebbe it's wot he says it is, or mebbe he's playin' at some other game. Well, we could just play along. It'd get us outta this cell, an' mebbe then we'd be able t' get something worthwhile done!"

"She's got a point, sir," Gallatin put in. "Can't do no good sittin' here under lock 'n' key. Mebbe we oughta see if we c'n beat Urthblood at his own game. He plays fast 'n' loose with th' bally truth himself, but he might not be expectin' the honorable hares of th' Long Patrols t' do the same ... 'specially if we tell him just wot he wants t' hear!"

Clewiston mulled it over. "Could be dangerous. He's got so many flippin' soldiers in this mountain, we'd be closely watched at all times, no matter where we go. An' he might smell our deception. Nobeast's more likely to expect lies from others than a liar, an' Urthblood's a master at that."

"But if we refuse to cooperate at all, he'll lose patience eventually," Melanie said. "Mebbe he'll be content to keep us prisoners, or turn us inta slaves. Then again, he may decide we're more trouble than we're worth. We gotta act before then."

"I think she's right, Colonel," said Gallatin. "Urthblood's not gonna take th' whole Long Patrol prisoner ... or his brother. Lord Urthfist is bound to head back to Salamandastron sooner or later, an' when he does, there's gonna be battle like th' coastlands have never seen before. My guess is we have 'til then, 'cos Urthblood won't want us in th' way when it comes to war, an' he prob'ly won't trust us to fight fer him, unless we start convincin' him right now. We gotta get outta here, an' the sooner th' better!"

"Well, mebbe ... " Clewiston felt a cool breeze ripple the fur at the back of his neck. Turning and glancing up, he beheld the tall open window, and the black night sky beyond. This particular window was located in a sheer wall of the mountain's face, opening onto a drop that would almost surely be lethal, even for a hare. No doubt this was the reason this room had been chosen for their confinement.

Clewiston's gaze shifted to the beds piled up against one wall. Nearly a dozen beds ... and none had been stripped of their sheets or blankets in the otters' haste to make this room ready for their captives before the hares revived from the sleeping vapors.

"Then again," he twirled his whiskers as he regarded the closed and windowless door to the corridor, hiding them from the sight of their guards, "if gettin' out is our main concern, why wait for Urthblood's say so?"

00000000000

Tied all together, the sheets and blankets were converted into a makeshift escape rope just long enough reach a wide rock shelf directly below the window, from which the hares could safely climb the rest of the way down the mountain.

They worked as fast as they could, knowing that they might be discovered at any moment. But apparently their otter guards were content simply to make sure no hares got out into the corridor; they never opened the door to check on their prisoners. Working in teams, the hares bound together several shorter lengths at the same time so that those sections could then be joined into a single piece long enough for their purpose.

They debated in hushed tones as they labored, trying to agree on where they should go if they should manage to escape. Some thought they should make a break for the east or the south, and get as far away from Salamandastron as they could. Others wanted to stage a surprise counterattack, try to catch Urthblood's forces off guard and retake at least part of the mountain. What good was freedom, they argued, if they were only going to use it to run away?

Clewiston vetoed the second group. "There's way too many of 'em, and too few of us. An' there're only three entrances open at the moment. You can bet Urthblood's got a small horde guardin' each one. Our own defenses would work against us. Doubt we could pull it off, even if we had some o' that sleepy stuff ourselves. Not only don't we have that, but we don't have any bally weapons at all! Bravery alone won't accomplish anything without th' tools to get the job done, an' those we don't have. This is one instance where discretion's the better part o' valor, don'tcha know, an' if we can be discreet enuff to all get clear o' this mountain alive, that'll be victory enuff for me!"

"So, wot'll we do then?" asked Gallatin, who had led the argument for an attack rather than flight.

"We join up with Lord Urthfist," said Clewiston. "Right now, we're twenty hares he doesn't have at his side. Link up with th' main force, an' not only will we have weapons again, but we'll bolster their numbers an' improve the odds in any bid to take back Salamandastron. We hafta assume His Lordship's still at Redwall. He wouldn't know wot's gone on here. It's our duty now to get that word to him, an' then leave it up to him how we can best be of use. There's nothing we can do here, 'cept get ourselves jolly well killed, an' Lord Urthfist wouldn't like that."

Gallatin accepted his superior's decision with a grimace. "Still, it galls me that we hafta run away an' leave our home in th' filthy paws o' this lot."

"Galls me that they got inside in the flippin' first place, Gallatin ol' chum. Now, is that bally rope just about ready?"

Peppertail finished testing the last knot with a hard tug between his paws. "Should hold, Colonel. Best job we coulda done in so short a time."

"Righto. Good work, hares! Now, tie one end 'round that bedpost there closest to th' window, makin' sure it won't come loose, an' then let th' rest drop outside, an' we'll see wot we've got!"

The results were most satisfactory. While two of the Patrol kept a firm grasp on the improvised rope to ease the strain on the bedpost knot, the other eighteen hares hurriedly shinnied down to the wide ledge far below. An old, thin hare named Broyall went last, wedging the bed firmly under the windowsill so that it would be less likely to shift under his light weight. When he too was safely on the ledge, the entire group carefully moved off the rock shelf to a less precarious part of the adjacent slope. If Urthblood had any guards outside at all, none seemed to be in the immediate vicinity.

"Where to now?"

"Straight on," the Colonel pointed to the dark line of mountains that stood ahead of them. They'd come out on the eastern slopes, with the bulk of Salamandastron between themselves and the sea. "We'll head straight for the foothills. Easier to hide ourselves there than if we went north or south along the coast. Also more in th' way of trees 'n' rocks there, wot we can use t' make weapons in a pinch. Once we're clear of th' coastal plain, we can decide which course to take from there."

Stealthily they threaded their way to the east base of the mountain. Near the bottom, an upright, badger-shaped rock loomed in their path. The line of hares made to file around it and then begin their final sprint for freedom.

Then the badger-rock spoke to them.

"I take it this is your answer then, Colonel?"

Nearly every hare jumped straight up in surprise. Then their training kicked in, and they sprang into battle stances, bobbing and weaving in all directions to meet an assault from any side. Though they lacked weapons, they were fully prepared to fight, even if that meant taking on an entire armed horde in paw-to-paw combat.

No attack came.

Clewiston could not believe that there were not numbers of the enemy lying in wait all around them, ready to charge at Urthblood's command. "Don't try an' stop us, or you'll have a whole load o' deadbeasts on yer paws, badger!"

"Only dead hares, since I am alone," Urthblood rumbled out of the night. "But I have no intention of waylaying you. Your actions now make it abundantly clear that you would risk your lives defying me. You would never give me your loyalty in your present frame of mind. I only wish a final word with you before you are gone."

"Oh?" Clewiston studied Urthblood's shadowy bulk. The badger had done something to his crimson armor to keep it from shining in the moonlight; that was how they'd assumed he was just an upright boulder until he announced himself. Then another thought struck the Colonel. "You were waitin' here fer us ... you knew we were comin'!"

"I suspected you might try something like this," Urthblood said, "and I knew the way you must come. I must say that I am most disappointed, although not altogether surprised."

"Why didn't you have your guards try 'n' stop us?"

"I already told you, Colonel. If you want to escape this desperately, then you are of no use to me. I see now that your loyalty to my brother is more important to you than your proper responsibility to the rightful Lord of the Mountain. So be it. I will not force any beast into my service who would resist me so, and I will not continue to deprive you of your freedom. You are still noble goodbeasts, misguided though you may be."

Clewiston glanced around. "So, you're out here all alone, eh? Wot's to stop us from takin' you outta th' picture right here 'n' now, an' doin' all the lands a favor?"

"I am no monster, but I am not above defending myself." Urthblood's paw lay heavily upon his sword hilt, that much Clewiston could see in the moonlight. "Go ahead and attack me, if you wish to discover how quickly I can slay twenty unarmed hares."

The hares were silent. They could all sense that this was no idle boast.

"And do not think to try to re-enter Salamandastron. I have a platoon of rats and a platoon of stoats up on the plateau, along with my falcon Klystra and my kite Halpryn. I have a full squad of ferrets on alert inside the north entrance, and a full squad of weasels guarding the south. You went to great lengths to escape this mountain. Now that you are out, you will stay out. You are free to go, but I will not tolerate anybeast opposing me within my own home. You have chosen your own fate; now go to it."

Clewiston and the others kept to their battle postures. "I still think it might be worth our lives if we could take you with us."

"That will not happen."

The Colonel felt his will give way. There was such certainty in Urthblood's voice. "Ah ... you can see th' future, is that it? You wouldn't be out here t'all if you didn't know for sure it'd be safe, wot?"

"Was I not out here waiting for you?"

The other hares slumped, deflated, sharing Clewiston's sense of defeat. How do you fight an enemy who knows the outcome of a battle before it's fought?

"Yes, Colonel, I can see some of what is to come ... enough to know what I must do when faced with terrible choices. And if you think this is a blessing, let me assure you I would not wish this burden upon my worst enemy. Now, before you leave, I have a message I would like you to deliver to my brother."

"Go ahead," Clewiston said stiffly.

"Tell Urthfist he may have back the throne of Salamandastron once I am satisfied he is fit to hold rulership here, and am convinced I can count on him and the Long Patrol as allies. He must not make himself my adversary; the stakes are too high for Salamandastron to be divided. Tell my brother that war with him is the last thing I want. Tell him I would gladly speak with him, in the hope that we may settle our differences without bloodshed. He is mistaken about my prophecy, Colonel. It foretells that a great crisis will occur in my time, not that I will be the cause of it. My only desire is to avert these troubles if I may, and I believe I can. In this, nothing must stand in my way. If Urthfist presses for war with me, I will not shy away from it. There is too much to lose for me to yield in this matter, and I will not do so. See that he understands this fully. I will be waiting for his response."

"I'll tell him," Clewiston muttered grudgingly. "But I can tell you right now wot his answer'll be."

"Just deliver my message, Colonel, and you will have done your part in trying to avert a disaster for all the lands. Make no mistake, that is what a war between the two Lords of the Mountain would be, no matter which side emerged victorious."

Saying no more, Urthblood turned and strode away, confidently placing his pawsteps on an unerring path up toward the south tunnel entrance. The hares watched him recede into the darkness until he was lost in the craggy terrain of the mountain slopes. Then Clewiston addressed the others. "Come on, let's get a move on, an' double quick!"

"Why?" asked Peppertail morosely. "He's lettin' us go. We don't hafta worry 'bout pursuit anymore."

"Yah. An' I trust that bloody badger about as far as I could chuck 'im! We'll stick with the original plan, an' make for th' foothills ahead. Like t' get there well before dawn, just in case we are followed. Then we can take a breather, an' figger out where t' go from there. Now, no more gabbin'! We gotta save our breath fer runnin'! Right, off we go now!"

Although he kept it to himself for the moment, Clewiston had a very clear notion on which route they should take to rejoin Lord Urthfist. But he would wait until they reached the safety of the foothills to share his thoughts with the rest.

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A panicked Captain Saybrook met Urthblood when the Badger Lord came in through the south tunnel entrance. Mattoon's weasels were in a furor, and seemed on the verge of streaming out onto the mountainside in an armed mass.

"They're gone, M'Lord!" the otter chief sputtered. "The hares have escaped from their room!"

"Yes, Captain, I know," Urthblood calmly informed Saybrook. "I just saw them off."

"You ... but ... but they escaped! Out the window!"

"Yes. Very resourceful, as you would expect of the Long Patrol. They were not about to accept me as their master, Captain, and would only have sought to cause trouble had they remained. I sent them away to avoid that, and I do not want them pursued."

"But, sir! They'll be able to get to Urthfist, and report everything that's happened here to him!"

"Probably." Urthblood was unperturbed. "I have no reason to keep secret anything I have done here. I am the older brother, and the rightful Lord of Salamandastron. It is Urthfist who has much to answer for, not I, for turning the Long Patrol against me."

"Yeah," said Saybrook, utterly flabbergasted by this turn of events. "Against you they are, M'Lord. An' if it does come to war, now the enemy is twenty hares stronger than they would've been."

"Eighty hares or a hundred, it does not matter." Urtblood waved a dismissive paw. "This is my mountain now, and I know how to defend it. From Tratton's searats, or from my brother and his hares."

"As you say, M'Lord," Saybrook accepted without enthusiam.

Urthblood turned to his senior weasel. "Captain Mattoon, keep your squad here at full strength and on alert until daylight. I will instruct Captains Bandon, Perrett and Cermak to do the same. In the unlikely event that those hares decide to circle back and surprise us, I want all entrances covered so they will have no chance of getting back inside. But, I do not think they will be troubling us again. They realize they are hopelessly outnumbered. Those twenty will not return to this mountain unless the rest of the Long Patrol are with them. They will be going to find my brother."

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The rising sun sparkled like a fiery orange diamond as it cleared the mountain peaks to wink down upon the fleeing Long Patrol. Here, in the western foothills at the base of the mountain range, the sunshine came late, long after the new day had lit the skies to their full brightness of pale blue. Now, as the slanting rays chased away the last shadows of the morning, the hares sat resting and discussing their next move.

Lieutenant Gallatin gazed back toward Salamandastron, inspecting the slope of the coastlands that stretched out between them and the solitary mountain fortress.

"Looks like that bully badger wasn't yankin' our shanks after all, Colonel. No sign o' pursuit, unless they've turned themselves invisible."

"Or unless they're doin' it from above." Melanie glanced skyward. "Remember, he does have birds workin' for him."

"Only two, so far's we know," said Clewiston. "That's not enuff fer an all-out attack on us, big as those feathered brutes are. They might keep an eye on us from way up high, but I doubt they'll pick a fight, now that we've got some weapons of our own."

They'd arrived in the foothills just as dawn began to brighten the sky above the ridges. Melanie and her daughters were the most familiar with these lands east of Salamandastron, having been assigned to patrol them frequently over the seasons. With their guidance, Clewiston's entire brigade was soon outfitted with plenty of straight branches to serve as crude javelins and staffs, stouter limbs for clubs, and a generous supply of rocks for throwing. They'd even been able to fashion a few bolo-type weapons from vines and rocks - hardly the proper slings they were accustomed to, but they would do in a pinch.

Their foraging was not limited to weaponry. Several mountain brooks trickled through the area before drying out in the sandy regions below, so drinking water was not a problem. Pawfuls of elderberries and some wild fennel provided a meagre if sustaining breakfast.

"So, we're not bein' follered," Peppertail said, licking berry juice off his pawtips. "That means we can go any which way we like."

"Or nowhere at all," Gallatin said, swinging his bolo experientally. The Lieutenant had claimed one of those weapons for himself.

The others looked at him. "Wot do you mean?"

"Way I figger it," said Gallatin, "Lord Urthfist has gotta come back this way sooner or later. Mebbe tomorrow, mebbe next season. Either way, he's not gonna let Salamandastron stay in the clutches of that evil brother o' his. Since he's bound t' show up on the coastlands eventually, I say we just wait for him here. We can keep an eye on the enemy in th' meantime, in case Urthblood has any nasty surprises in mind. Monitor their movements, make sure they don't set up any ambushes or traps, mebbe even do a little harryin' of our own if they send smaller groups outside an' away from th' mountain. Then, when Lord Urthfist an' the main force does arrive, we'll be able to join up with 'em an' report on everything we've observed. Might save 'em from walkin' into something they wouldn't walk outta again."

"That's very temptin', I must say," Clewiston admitted. "But you're overlookin' a few points, Gally ol' chum. Fer starters, Lord Urthfist could decide to return by th' north route rather than th' south. We'd have no way of knowing which it's gonna be until he jolly well shows. Urthblood, on the other paw, has those birds, who I wager could fly all th' way to Redwall an' back in the time it'd take us just to get to one end o' this blinkin' range or the other. He'd know when Urthfist was comin', an' where from, long before we did. Even if we spread ourselves out in smaller Patrol groups all up 'n' down th' bally coastlands, we'd be too scattered to regroup in time when His Lordship would need us together most.

"But th' main thing is, Lord Urthfist has no way t' know wot's happened here, an' that's gotta be our number one job right now. We're assumin' when he gets to Redwall an' sees Urthblood ain't there, he'll be able t' figure out on his own wot's up. But it hain't our place to assume. Why, fer all we know, Urthblood really may've killed the Abbess an' left the Abbey under charge o' his scumnose slackers. That otter who said he was from Redwall might've been a lyin' spy just like Browder, an' our comrades could at this very moment be battlin' th' enemy all through Mossflower. We don't know exactly how many troops Urthblood brought down from the north with him, or if more might've followed later on, or if they all came with him to Salamandastron. Point is, we don't know fer sure wot's goin' on at Redwall, an' they can't know wot's goin' on here. The Long Patrol's divided; we gotta bring it all back together again before anything else. Hares, we must get to Redwall, an' by th' fastest way possible!"

Gallatin shrugged. "So, which'll it be? North, or south?"

"East." Clewiston stood and looked up at the mountain peaks still high above them. "Straight east. That fink Browder claimed he made it from Redwall to Salamandastron in three days. Well, let's see if we can't match that time ... or beat it!"

Peppertail nearly choked on a fennel leaf. "You mean, up over th' mountains?"

Gallatin was skeptical. "We don't even know if there really is a pass through th' range. We only got a liar's word fer it, an' that's none too much!"

Clewiston looked at the Patrol Leader whose team had first encountered Browder. "Melanie thought there was a pass. Didn't ya, Mel?"

"Wellll ... " The hare mother twirled her staff in her paw. "Mizzy 'n' Givvy 'n' me climbed halfway to th' summit with Browder, an' everything seemed t' be just where he said it would be. An' there was pawprints matchin' his comin' down. At th' time, I assumed he was tellin' th' truth, but that was before we knew he really was Urthblood's spy. I dunno. Guess he coulda faked th' whole thing, but ... " Her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

"Do you think you could find it again?" Clewiston pressed.

"Oh, sure we could!" Givadon answered for her mother. "Not hard t' find at all, once it's been shown t' you. The trail starts just a little to th' south o' here."

"Then here's wot we'll do," Clewiston addressed the whole company. "We've very little to lose by tryin' this way. If we get near th' summit an' find it's a blind end, we'll just turn about an' head back down again. But I trust Melanie's first instincts. I think there is a bally pass over th' mountains. An' if we can find it, that'll cut days off th' run to Redwall. Lord Urthfist must've had time t' get there by now, so hopefully he'll still be at the Abbey when we arrive. If it turns out we missed 'im an' he's already on his way back to Salamandastron, we can find out which route he took an' follow along; us twenty, travellin' light as we are, should be able t' catch up in time. But if it turns out they've got too big a head start on us, why, we'll just pop back over th' mountains the way we came an' rendezvous with 'em here on th' coastlands. Either way, we'll be at Lord Urthfist's side when he finally does come face t' face with Urthblood, an' that's wot matters!"

There was no argument. The Long Patrols picked more berries and nuts to fill all their pouches and pockets, since they might have to spend a night on the peaks and there was not likely to be much food available at that altitude. Then, following Melanie's lead, they marched south and east until they picked up Browder's trail. With the sun climbing slowly toward its zenith, the hares commenced their own climb, most eager to find out whether this path was just another one of Browder's lies, or if he might for a change have been telling the truth about something.


	36. Chapter 62

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Sixty-Two

As the hares climbed throughout that day, the terrain became craggier, the rocky ground harder beneath their feet, and the vegetation more sparse the higher they got. The air grew cooler as well, in spite of the radiant afternoon sunshine, promising a cold night for them if they were unable to attain the summit pass and start back down the other side before nightfall.

Several times the trail seemed to die out in broad gravelly slopes or uneven stretches of boulders, but always the intrepid hares were able to pick it up again once they were past these apparent dead ends. There did indeed seem to be a trail all the way up through the backbone of the mountain range, but it was hardly obvious, especially not to beasts on the ground. Perhaps there was some small element of truth in Browder's tale, in that it was in fact a bird who had discovered this path. What the deceitful hare had omitted was that the bird was one of Urthblood's creatures, and had most likely mapped out the route at the villainous badger's request.

Late afternoon found them high in the barren pass, twin peaks rising above them on either paw. Here was where the pass actually cut between the two summits; the stretch directly ahead of them looked to level off well below the pair of mountains flanking it. The Long Patrol had made very good time upon the lower slopes, but the higher elevations slowed them considerably. By now all signs of grass, plants and trees had vanished, and there was only naked rock to behold in all directions. Nothing at all appeared to live in this bleak environment, not even the hunter birds who often built their nests upon high mountain crags.

Clewiston was forced to slow their pace, as much as it pained him to do so. It would be more painful still to have any of his hares suffer sprained ankles or broken legs on the cracked and uneven course they followed. And twice their path narrowed to a winding ledge, forcing them to hug the mountain face to their right to avoid a precipitous drop on their left. At times the walkway was scarcely wide enough for two hares to walk abreast, and then their column was careful to march single file. The Colonel didn't want to risk losing a single hare over the unprotected cliff edge.

A third such area lay directly ahead of them. Even as the rocky landscape fell away on their left to a deep and deadly ravine, the path disappeared around a curve of the mountain flank. The incline seemed to be levelling off, suggesting that they were near the top of their climb. With the westering sun at their backs they once more assumed a cautious single file and pressed on around the blind bend.

Clewiston, at the head of the column, risked a glance down and to his left as he inched his way along the ledge, feeling ahead with his footpaws to make certain every step was firm and sure. The drop here was deeper than the previous two gorges, affirming his suspicion that they must be near the apex of the path. It certainly was a long way down. Clewiston thought to himself that a beast who slipped here might fall for days before smashing itself to smeared pieces upon unseen rocks far below, or perhaps even tumble into the deeper parts of the world, where the molten lava that formed Salamandastron in another age still flowed, red and hot and unforgiving. If Browder truly had made this passing, alone and in the good time he'd boasted, then he was a better hare than the Colonel was willing to admit.

The vertiginous view was making Clewiston giddy, even after a few scant moments. Shaking himself, he returned his gaze to the narrow path before him ...

... and found himself staring into the red-brown eyes of a black-clad fox. A formidable sword hung at the beast's side, and behind him stood twoscore heavily-armed vermin and fox soldiers, totally filling the ledge and leaving no spare inch for the hares to pass.

00000000000

Machus stood stock still, appraising the hares before him with a calm military gaze. These were Long Patrol, of that he was certain, although their crude weaponry hardly seemed the type he would expect such professional soldiers to carry. Their single-file column disappeared around the mountain bend, but those who did have a clear view of the swordfox were clearly tensed for battle. Encountering such a force here was the last thing Machus would have expected, and he could think of only one reason why they would be in this place. That boded well for the success of Lord Urthblood's mission to Salamandastron. On the other paw, it presented Machus and his band with a rather significant problem here and now.

The swordfox shot a glance into the seemingly bottomless crevass on his right. His force probably outnumbered the hares by more than two to one, but they were formidable fighting beasts, if their reputation was to be credited. But neither side would have the advantage in a place like this; both would lose members over the lip of the deadly abyss. Most of the fighters could well perish in such a manner. And Machus himself, at the head of his column, would be one of the first to go, leaving the rest of his company leaderless in this perilous place.

He must avoid a fight here, at all costs.

Machus guessed the same idea must have occurred to the hares' leader, since he caught their commander stealing a similar glance at the deep ravine. And hares of the Long Patrol were renowned for reacting like lightning toward an enemy. The very fact that they had yet to attack showed that they might want to avoid a battle as much as he did.

Machus forced his paws to remain at his sides, away from his sword hilt and in plain view of the hares. He did not want to risk any move that might be mistaken as belligerent. Looking the lead hare levelly in the eye, he said, "I take it you are the hares of the Long Patrol?"

"That's right." The foremost hare gripped his crude wood spear tightly in his paw. "An' who th' devil might you be?"

"I am called Machus the Sword, commander of Lord Urthblood's fox brigade. I have Redwallers travelling with me. We are on our way to Salamandastron."

"Y' don't say? You just come from Redwall?"

"Three days ago," Machus nodded. "After Lord Urthfist arrived, the Abbess bade us leave, to ensure the neutrality of the Abbey. Otherwise, I would still be there." Machus decided there was nothing to gain here by concealing the truth.

"Wot, there was no battle?"

"Arrangements were made to avoid that. And, I think it would be in both our best interests for you and me to do the same right now."

The hare seemed to look at Machus rather differently then. "Surprised t' hear such good sense comin' from a beast like you."

"So we're agreed?"

"Keep talkin', fox. Is Lord Urthfist still at Redwall?"

"He was when I left, and I've seen no signs that he was pursuing us. As you may imagine, a creature does a lot of looking behind it when an angry badger might be on your tail."

"Sounds like he's got you on th' run, right an' proper."

"I'd hazard a guess the same could be said for you. I assume you're not all up here taking a stroll for your health."

The hare glared at Machus, jaw clenched. Machus instantly regretted his words. He wanted to avoid any confrontation, even a verbal one. At the same time, it would be very helpful if he could get these hares to reveal exactly what the situation was at Salamandastron. He decided to take a less provoking tack.

"Are all twenty of you here?" he inquired.

"How'd you know our number?"

"Fourscore of the Long Patrol came to Redwall with Urthfist. That leaves a score. And I don't think Lord Urthblood would expel some of you from Salamandastron and let others remain. So, unless you lost any of your hares in the defense of that fortress, there should be twenty of you here."

"Yah. There are."

"Good," Machus nodded, keeping his tone at its most concilliatory and sincere. "I'm glad none of you were slain. Any bloodshed would have hurt the cause of peace in the lands."

The hare remained cold toward him. "If you think there's gonna be peace as long as Urthblood's in control o' Salamandastron, you've lost a few acorns outta yer bally tree. If we was on flat ground now instead o' hangin' off the side o' this blinkin' mountain, my staff would've found yer skull long before now."

Machus refused to be baited. "Then it's a good thing we're not on flat ground. Which brings us back to our present predicament. We seem to be headed in opposite directions, and there's barely enough room here for two beasts to pass each other. If we're both agreed that this is not the place to start a fight, then we must work out some way to get by each other that is satisfactory to both of us."

"That's simple enuff, chap. You just take a step to th' outside, an' we'll file by against th' wall. Nothing easier."

Machus kept his friendly smile on. "I'm not sure I can trust you. That would put all of us out at the edge of this cliff, with you hares safely in with your backs to the mountain. What's to stop you from pushing us all off this ledge to our deaths once you have us in that position?"

"My bally word, that's wot!"

"And under other circumstances, that would be good enough for me," Machus said. "But since you just voiced a desire to do me harm and obviously see me as an enemy, I should think you will be very tempted to take advantage of this opportunity to kill me now. You could justify yourself by saying it was your duty to eliminate an adversary when you had the chance to do so. No, that is not acceptable."

"Well, you sure as seashells don't expect us to trust a fox, do you?"

"It wouldn't work either way. Even if we are both true to our word, this ledge is just too narrow. An accidental jostle could send a creature to its death. We dare not try to pass our two columns here. We must move to another spot where the path widens, so we can do this in safety."

"Right ho. That'll work. You jus' shuffle this crew o' frighters y' got here back a spell, an' we'll jog by an' be on our merry way."

"Now, let's be reasonable, friend. I've got more than twice as many troops as you do. It makes far more sense for you to back up your smaller force to a place where we can pass you."

"Nothin' doin', chap. We're makin' to crest this bally hump an' be well on our way down the other side before daylight fails. Not gonna spend a single night shiverin' our scuts off at these cold altitudes if we don't hafta."

"But we're past the summit," Machus argued, "meaning we were climbing before you were. That gives us the right of way. You should yield to us."

"Not gonna happen, redfur. It's your master wot turned us outta our home. If you think we're about t' yield to you, you've another thing comin'."

For several tense moments fox and hare glared at each other defiantly, neither willing to concede this one last point which might allow them to part company without violence. The Long Patrol were fully poised and ready to charge at a word from their commander. Tension was also high in the ranks lined up behind Machus. The situation was liable to become dire if one side or the other didn't make a concession, and quickly.

Machus heard a bustle behind him. There came a light tap on his shoulder. Glancing back, he saw that Alexander and Lady Mina had moved forward to stand at his back.

"Machus, crouch over low so I can vault over you," Alex whispered urgently in his ear. "If these hares can talk to a Redwaller, they won't be as likely to do something we'll all regret."

Machus gave a curt nod, and held up an open paw to the hare chief. "Got a Redwaller, coming through." Then he bent over, his snout almost touching the rocky concourse. Alex nimbly leapfrogged over the crouching fox and landed in the clear space separating the two leaders.

He extended a paw to the hare. "Alexander of Redwall."

His paw was accepted in a hesitant shake. "Colonel Clewiston, high commander of the Long Patrol. Wot's with all you Redwallers cozyin' up to Urthblood's minions? First that otter, an' now you."

"Otter?" Alexander's eyes widened. "You mean young Winokur? Have you met him? Is he all right?"

The squirrel's genuine expressions of concern for the novice otter gave Clewiston pause. "Oh, yes. Just fine an' dandy, when last I saw him. Doin' a sight better'n any of us are, at the moment."

"Well, that's a relief. He's really been on the minds of everybeast at Redwall. I wish there was some way I could let the Abbess know Wink's okay."

"We'll jolly well tell her ourselves, when we get there," Clewiston said. "You jus' get this fox an' his cronies t' step aside, an' we'll be there all the sooner."

"Yes, we do have to work on that, don't we? Machus has a valid point: we're further along in our march over the mountains, so we were here first, in a manner of speaking. You really should back up for us to get by."

Clewiston shook his head resolutely. "We're on a schedule, chap. See, you lot're headin' fer Salamandastron, an' that mountain ain't goin' nowheres. Neither is Urthblood, hate t' say it, so he'll be waitin' fer you even if you're delayed here a spell. We, on the other paw, hafta try 'n' get to Redwall before Lord Urthfist leaves. Otherwise, we'll be chasin' him all across th' bloomin' countryside, playin' catch-up. So speed's not of the essence fer you. It is fer us."

"Well, one of us had better give in soon, or we'll all be spending tonight up on this barren place. Um, excuse me a moment." Alex turned back to the anxiously waiting swordfox. "Machus, I really think we ought to let this one go. Those hares aren't budging. And if this comes to blows, a lot of us going over the side."

"Yes, I know." Machus worked his jaw muscles in contemplation. "But I hate to lose the time, and by all rights we shouldn't have to!"

"It won't take that long," said Alex.

"Long enough to force us to spend all night up here. The sun's almost set. We can't traverse the more hazardous stretches in the dark. It'll be a cold sleep."

"What choice do we have, Machus?"

"I also don't like the idea of backing down to the hares in front of my troops. Not good for discipline."

Alex grinned. "But, Machus! You didn't back down at all! You negotiated, with me as your mediator. And now you're going to do what has to be done. Your decision, and nobeast else's. Diplomacy, pure and simple!"

Machus mulled it over. "Well, let's at least make it look official." As Alex sidled around him to the outside of the ledge to rejoin Mina, Machus stepped across to face Clewiston. "In the interest of peace for the lands, Colonel, I will instruct my beasts to turn around and return to the last wide part of the path, where you may pass us in safety."

"In th' interest o' keepin' yerselves alive, you jolly well better."

Machus grimaced. "You could at least be gracious about this, Colonel."

"Gracious, he says. Chappie, I just been conquered an' exiled. That doesn't exactly put one in much of a mood t' be gracious, wot?"

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Machus had his company double back to a spot roughly five hundred paces from where they'd encountered the hares. Here the two mountain faces drew close together, and the frightening ravine narrowed to a mere crack less than a paw's width across. The path widened into a kind of high-altitude gully, sloped upward at either side.

The Northland troops lined up along one inclined wall, standing well back so that the Long Patrol could pass at a safe distance. Colonel Clewiston strolled over to be with Alexander and Machus while his hares filed past, preferring to keep his adversary close-to-paw to discourage any treachery the fox might be contemplating. It also gave him a chance to converse a bit more with the Redwall squirrel.

"So," Clewiston nodded toward Machus's soldiers, "are these all the forces wot Urthblood left at Redwall?"

"This is all of them," Alex answered. "When you get to the Abbey, there'll only be Redwallers and Urthfist and his hares waiting for you."

"Assumin', o' course, that His Lordship hasn't already left, wot?"

"Yes, there is that. But it looked to me like Urthfist might've been planning to stay awhile."

"Oh, won't be too long, you c'n count on that. And you're sure everything was all okay back at Redwall?"

"Was when I left. Whether Urthfist's done anything to change that, who knows?"

Clewiston shot Alex an irate glance. "Steady on, bushytail. Lord Urthfist's the bally good guy in all this."

"All I know is, Lord Urthblood never showed up at our gates threatening to put Redwall under siege or slaughter guests of our Abbey."

Clewiston's ears waggled. "I say, sounds like a bit of a bad show back your way. Is that wot happened?"

"More or less. Your master doesn't exactly have a very winning way of making friends or getting the sympathy of outsiders. Personally, I think he's obsessed ... and maybe dangerous."

"Wha ... wha ... hey, are you sure you're a Redwaller?"

"Don't get offended, Colonel. When you reach Redwall you'll see for yourself that most of us felt that way. I just hope he didn't cause any trouble after the Abbess let him in. He wasn't in much of a mood to have anybeast question or disagree with him, and such attitudes don't go over well with us."

"Well, you can hardly blame him, wot? Gettin' outwitted by that devious brother o' his, losin' Salamandastron, findin' out Redwall's partway under Urthblood's sway ... "

"Redwall belongs to itself," Alex said curtly. "This is all a feud between Badger Lords. It's not our problem, and we won't take sides in this."

"Oh no? Then wot're you doin' here?"

Alex glanced at Lady Mina. "My reasons are more ... personal."

"An' wot about that wet-b'hind-the-ears otter who came to us when we were bound prisoners, blowin' hot air about playing peacemaker?"

"He wasn't playing, Colonel. Winokur was sent with Urthblood as an envoy and mediator. Don't let his young seasons fool you - he can handle a javelin with the best of them, and he knows more about Redwall history than many Abbeybeasts twice his age. He was trying to stop a war ... a very Redwall thing of him to do."

Clewiston was unconvinced. "Fat jolly good he did. Stood by an' let Urthblood take Salamandastron."

"Was he supposed to stop it?" Alex demanded. "Or maybe run ahead and tell you what Urthblood was planning? You're still alive, aren't you?"

Clewiston shook his head sadly. "If Urthblood wins all this, you'll find out soon enuff that it is yer bally problem. Mossflower won't be safe from him, and neither will Redwall."

Alexander sighed. "Well, at least Winokur's safe and sound. Guess he won't be playing peacemaker anymore, now that you're all running off to Redwall."

"Oh, not t' worry," Clewiston said. "If he stays at Salamandastron fer awhile, he'll be seein' plenty more o' us ... an' I do mean plenty!"

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When the final hare of the column was past, Clewiston loped over to put himself at the end of the line, never taking his eyes from Machus or completely turning his back on the Northland troops. Then the Colonel was gone, along with the rest of his company, behind a rise in the winding mountain trail.

"Thank goodness that all worked out for the best!" Alexander exhaled. "For awhile there, I thought those hares were gonna attack us even at the risk of getting themselves all killed as well."

"So was I," Machus admitted. "That beast has a strong sense of duty, I could tell. Fortunately for us, he also cares very deeply for the safety and welfare of his troops. Too much so to waste them in a futile battle. Still, he must have been itching for battle after what happened at Salamandastron. We were very lucky in that respect." The swordfox gazed after the departed Long Patrol. "I have a feeling our fight with them has only been put off until another day. We may be destined to face each other on the field of combat yet."

"Let them come," said Lady Mina. "I won't shy away."

Machus sighed and turned to face west. "And as far as everything working out for the best, Alex, I'm afraid I can't agree. No lives were lost, but we've been pushed back to almost the highest point of the pass. The sun's already set, and according to Colonel Clewiston there are several more hazardous stretches ahead of us. We can't risk marching at night along this broken trail, even if the moon is out and bright. We're spending the night up here, like it or not."

The gully-like hollow they presently occupied was cast in the gloomy gray of impending twilight. Already they could get a taste of what it was going to be like at this altitude without the sun's rays to warm them. In a word, cold. The company carried no tents or blankets, and had been using their supply packs as pillows. They would have only their clothes and their fur to keep them warm. It looked like it might be a sleepless and uncomfortable night ahead of them.

"Well, let's cover what ground we can," Alex said hopefully. "At least we seem to be past the summit. The farther down we can get before the light fails altogether, the better off we'll be."

"Not necessarily," said Mina. "On this side of the range, we'll have the breezes off the ocean to contend with. There's no way we can climb far enough down now to make much of a difference. Machus, I almost think we'd be better off staying right where we are for the night. At least the contours of the terrain here might provide some protection from the wind."

Machus glanced up and down the gully. "I don't know, Mina. The wind's already pretty stiff from where I'm standing. And the two peaks above us are quite close together here. I can envision some pretty fierce gusts howling through this pass as the temperature drops."

"No worse here than anywhere else we could reach before nightfall. But I've spent some time in the Boldred Mountains above the forest of the Gawtrybe. I know something of the ways of high passes, and I think the curved walls here should work to our benefit." Mina shrugged. "It'll still be pretty cold. We're going to be miserable no matter where we stop. It's your call, Machus."

Machus fondled the hilt of his sword absently as he considered. "If I'd known this was going to happen, I would have asked the Abbess for blankets, or cloaks. I'd assumed we'd be able to crest the ridge in one day and be back down below the tree line before nightfall. If we'd started our climb before dawn instead of waiting for daybreak after we located the trail ... and if we hadn't run into those hares ... "

"And if we had wings we'd be eagles," Mina said impatiently. "Don't berate yourself, Machus. You can't anticipate everything. We're here now, and that's what we have to deal with. Do we stop here, or go on?"

Machus decided with a curt nod. "I'll trust your judgment in this, Mina, since you've more mountain experience than I. We'll camp here for the night. That way we'll have all day tomorrow to finish our descent in the safety of full light. With luck we can still make it to Salamandastron by tomorrow evening."

00000000000

Cold feet were the biggest problem facing the westbound travelers that night on the high mountain pass.

It was worst for the rats and shrews, with their furless paws and tails. Many pressed their tails between their backs and the smooth rock they lay against, but such a posture only left their footpaws sticking out and all the more vulnerable to the chill wind. This was bad enough for the rats, but the diminutive shrews couldn't afford to lose any of their body heat that they could possibly save, if they wanted to survive the night.

To safeguard his smaller comrades, Machus arranged for the company to spend the night hunkered together in a line along one gully wall, and ordered that the rats and shrews take positions between foxes and weasels, so that the larger animals could share their warmth with the rodents and partly shield them from the wind with their bodies. Machus and Andrus, the two foxes at either end of the line, bore the brunt of the elemental assault, since they only had another creature on one side of them to help keep them warm. Neither of the disciplined foxes complained.

In spite of these precautions, freezing footpaws were rampant. And while nobeast was likely to die now, it was a night none of them would ever wish to relive, if they lived for a hundred seasons.

Mina had been right: they were going to be miserable no matter what they did.

She and Alexander held the second and third places from the end after Machus. The two squirrels huddled especially tight together, their extravagant bushy tails looped around in front of them to serve as muffs for their feet. They were enjoying this closeness too much to be as bothered by the cold as the others. Not that they were oblivious to it; the lovestruck duo would do their share of shivering this night. When the three-quarter moon finally rose into view, sharp and clear against the perfect black velvet of the sky and shining brightly, they could quite clearly see their breaths misting in the moonlight.

"Brrrrgh!" Mina chattered. "If this is what it's like up here in summer, I'd hate to be here at the height of winter!"

"Whole place is probably snowbound then," Alex said. "We'd be sitting at the bottom of a deep drift right now. At least be glad we don't have that to contend with."

Mina gazed up at the luminous disk of moon and the brilliantly twinkling pinpoint stars. "No, although I think it is cold enough to snow. Good thing it's a clear night. If there were thick clouds like two nights ago, I'd be worried about getting covered."

Alex mused, "I suppose it does snow at this altitude in late summer, sometimes. But clear nights are always the coldest, too. I could use a thick blanket of cloud night now."

The fox nestled against Alexander's right side groaned. "I'd settle for a blanket of wool. This's almost as bad as a Northlands winter!"

Mina scoffed from Alex's left. "Oh, not even close! But I'll bet there is frost on all these rocks come morning."

"It's frost on us that worries me," said Machus from the end. "A beast can't march on frostbitten feet, and this trail is too treacherous for any of us to try to carry anybeast who can't walk on its own. It shouldn't be a danger to us foxes," he glanced at the squirrel's tails wrapped about their footpaws, "or to you either, apparently. But the shrews and rats could lose toes from this. Or worse."

Alex said to the swordfox, "I'm surprised you don't wear boots as part of your uniform. Urthblood seems to supply you with everything else you need."

"We do wear boots, in the winter," Machus told him. "No choice there, really; the winters in the north can be terrible, with snow on the ground well into spring. Our footpaws would be cut to ribbons on the icy snowcrust, not to mention frozen through. But the rest of the time we prefer to go barepawed. A fighting beast needs good feel and balance under it, and boots can be more of a hindrance than a help. You're a squirrel, so you should understand. Can you picture yourself dashing through the treetops in a pair of clunky boots?"

"No, I guess not," Alex chuckled at the thought. Squirrels generally never wore shoes of any kind. If they did, there would be an awful lot of squirrels falling out of trees!

"Anyway," Machus went on, "it never would have occurred to any of us to bring boots along on a march to Mossflower in the summer. And truthfully, I wouldn't have wanted to attempt some parts of this climb encumbered by boots. We'd probably have lost a beast or two by now."

"We still could," Mina said grimly. "Any who can't march come morning will have to be left behind to make it down on their own. I wouldn't favor their chances."

Machus nodded. "Perhaps I should order everybeast to get up and stamp around for a bit, to keep their blood flowing to their extremities."

"And disturb their sleep?" Alex chortled. All night he'd been able to hear the constant murmur of indistinct voices off to his right, from farther down the line. Their present conversation was hardly the only one taking place amongst the troops.

"Who are you kidding?" Mina playfully chided. "I don't think any of us are going to get a single wink tonight."

Alex pressed himself closer to Mina, if such was possible. "I can think of worse spots to be in ... and worse company to be in them with."

Machus smiled knowingly. The other fox to Alexander's right rolled his eyes skyward at this romantic foolishness, then huddled closer to the weasel on his other side.

00000000000

Contrary to Mina's contention, most of them did fall asleep eventually, in spite of the cold that had them shivering where they sat. When the first gray tinges of dawn began to brighten the sky, causing the harsh landscape around them reemerge out of the darkness, Machus was on his chilled feet, rousing his troops up and down the line to see how they'd fared during the night. Now that sleep had finally found them, some of the rats and shrews complained about being stirred at this early hour. Machus was immune to their grumbling. And they all knew better than to disobey the fox captain, and so all were quickly up and pacing about the rocky gully.

To everybeast's relief, none seemed to have suffered any serious effects from the cold. There were stiff limbs and tails aplenty, and most of the troop had the look of decrepit oldsters as they walked to and fro, working out the kinks in their muscles and getting their circulation flowing again. All would be able to make the day's march without any problem.

And Machus wasted no time in getting that march underway. Their cold breakfast was a speedy affair at the fox's urging, and then the procession was on the move once more, even as the sliver-gray skies above brightened to a blue as clear as the mountain air in their nostrils. Now that they had passed the summit, the sun was hidden by the peak behind them and would remain so for some time to come as they made their way farther down the mountain. Any grumbling among the troops about being forced into this early start was tempered by the realization that it would get them off this cold, windy and desolate high pass all the sooner. It also didn't hurt to know that Urthblood had successfully taken Salamandastron, and that they were marching toward a safe haven where they could enjoy some relaxation and comfort after their hard travels.

At least, they hoped so. But it was impossible to forget that another Badger Lord roamed these lands, one who would want the mountain back and would undoubtedly be willing to fight to regain it. Even if they found Salamandastron unassailed and at peace upon their arrival, they might have only a brief respite before the storm of war broke over all of them.


	37. Interlude, with Otters

THE CRIMSON BADGER - Interlude, With Otters

Winokur was beginning to think he should have been born a sea otter.

It was the morning after the Long Patrol's "escape" from Salamandastron, and now that there were no longer any hares at the fortress, Winokur found himself free to engage in other pursuits. It was rather difficult to play peacemaker when one of the warring sides had run off. And since he was sworn as a Redwaller to remain neutral, he would not have felt right assisting in Urthblood's preparations for possible war between the two badgers. Those preparations occupied nearly every beast of Urthblood's army, and spilled into nearly every corner of the immense mountain stronghold, leaving little room for an idle observer. Feeling very much in the way, Winokur was driven out onto the shores along the western foot of the mountain.

From there, it was but a few short steps into the gentle blue-green swells of the summer sea. Now he stood gazing across the endless expanse of ocean while its foamy skirt lapped and flowed against his footpaws. He'd thought he'd overcome his fear of the boundless waters during his swim with the nighttime invasion force, but facing them once more in the full light of a bright sunny day, he discovered his misgivings had returned.

Had he actually swum in that other world, way out past where the breakers started to form? What gargantuans of the sea had shared that swim with them, perhaps so close that two or three powerful tail strokes would have brought their open jaws, wide enough to swallow an otter whole, around him? Winokur shuddered as he stood there in the warm morning sunshine. He had actually enjoyed that nighttime trek, or so he'd thought, and had looked forward to venturing forth once more into the ocean main. Now that the opportunity to do so was before him, he found he was unable to take the dive.

He was roused from his indecision by the appearance of Saybrook's entire otter squad - including his father Warnokur - heading down to the shore themselves. Urthblood had issued them a special assignment. An army of this size would deplete the food stores of Salamandastron in a dangerously short time, and this would be a major problem if Urthfist and the Long Patrol attempted to put the mountain under siege - a thing they were certainly capable of doing. Fortunately, it just so happened that Urthblood had a food source open to him that had never been available before to any Lord of the Mountain. The fortress may have been situated on the seashore, but hares and badgers were neither good swimmers nor adept boating beasts, and so the bounty of the sea so tantalizingly close had always gone unharvested by them. Urthblood intended to change this ... and he had just the creatures for the job.

It turned out that the army had carried a number of nets and seines among its supplies, along with various other implements geared toward underwater hunting and gathering. Today, the otters had been excused from all other duties so they could supplement the food supply with whatever they could catch.

When Saybrook outlined this strategy to Winokur and heartily invited the young Redwaller along to "share in the fun," Winokur felt his reluctance start to melt away. Surely, surrounded by all these other otter friends as well as his own father, and with the coastal waters brightly illuminated to reveal any lurking menace in plenty of time to avoid it, he would look silly if he declined out of some insubstantial fears. Yet still he hesitated, hemming and hawing uncertainly. It would take the combined exhortations of nearly the entire party to coax - or rather, to chagrin - Winokur into joining the fishing expedition.

Warnokur was in boisterous spirits. "Ha! They might've kept us from helpin' t' capture this lump o' rock, Wink, but we get t' show our stuff to 'em now! No otter can outfish you 'n' me when we're in top form, eh?"

"Um, yeah." Winokur diplomatically refrained from pointing out that most of his fishing experience had been gained from Montybank in the Abbey pond, since Warnokur had only ever spent a few days out of each season at Redwall.

"Only right, ain't it?" his father went on. "Th' two o' us who got left standin' in th' rain while these other riverdogs got all th' glory o' capturin' Salamandastron, we'll have our chance t' prove our worth now ... make these thicktails glad they brought us along t' pull their soggy rudders outta th' fire!"

But Saybrook could see the uncertainty on Winokur's face. "You comin', Wink lad?"

"Um ... "

"Course he's comin'!" Warnokur laughed. "Couldn't hold him back with galley chains! Ain't that right, Wink?"

Winokur glanced back and forth between his father and Saybrook, but his gaze finally settled on the shimmering sea. There were mysteries and magic out there beneath the waves, more than enough to overcome his qualms. Quite apart from how it would look to the rest of the otters if he stayed ashore, he knew in the end that he would be too disappointed in himself if he didn't take the plunge. Life was meant to be lived, and he might never visit the ocean again. If he returned to Redwall never having embraced this adventure before him, he would regret it always.

Winokur set his jaw and straightened his stance. "Course I'm comin'!"

"Then get yerself stripped outta them robes an' join th' crowd!" Warnokur invited.

Wink slipped off Abbess Mhera's old habit and lovingly rolled it into a neat bundle, which he left on the rocks above the high tide line. "Okay ... let's go fishing!"

By the end of that first day, Winokur's reservations about ocean swimming were banished forever. The undersea world was a place of unlimited wonders. With the sun's rays slanting down from the rippling surface through the aqua-green water, Winokur could see quite clearly down to a depth of many body lengths. In those dancing shafts of sunlight he saw for the first time what the glow jellies really looked like: tiny oval bodies, of the size and shape of gooseberries, but crystal clear so that they were almost impossible to see unless they were searched for most carefully. Eight shimmering bands ran along their surfaces from one end to the other, and the sunlight played up and down the length of these bands in moving waves of irridescent green, purple, orange, red, yellow and blue. It was remarkable that creatures which glowed like cold fire at night should also sparkle like living jewels in all the colors of the rainbow when viewed in the daylight. They were quite the most beautiful things Winokur had ever seen, and now that he knew their true nature he would never consider tasting one, as Olimpo had done during the invasion swim.

Each glow jelly trailed two long, feathery fronds out behind it, delicate white threads scarcely more visible than the oval bodies themselves. These fronds were sticky to the touch, and on several occasions Winokur found them clinging onto his face and other parts of him after he'd swum through them unaware. The only way to avoid this, he discovered, was to swim quickly and powerfully, so that the rush of water over his sleek otter figure would wash them free.

But the glow jellies were merely the top layer of the wonders to be found here. Since their immediate concern was food, Saybrook and the other otters with previous ocean experience guided the rest down to the sea bottom where most of the readily-available edible life forms were to be found. They demonstrated how the various types of quarry could be located, caught, and brought back to the sandy shore.

And what a variety there was! Clumps of mussels with shells of blue-black, whose tethers could be cut free from the rocks with a sharp knife so that these shellfish could be brought up in huge bunches. Clams, dug out of the sandy and muddy patches where their siphons betrayed their presence, some of them so big and heavy that a solitary otter had all it could do to bear it to the surface. Scallops, with their bizarre double rows of blue eyes, that would attempt to flee from capture by clacking their bivalve shells like living castenets flitting across the seabed. Wavy-shelled cockles, found the same way as the clams but smaller and easier to carry. Whelks, whose large, twisted spiral shells sticking up from the rocks made them easy to spot. And, of course, there were shrimp, in swarms vast enough to stock Redwall's pond a hundred times over. These the otters took in one bulging netful after another. In no time at all they'd hauled up enough to make shrimp soup for every soldier in Urthblood's army.

All that day, the wonders kept coming at Winokur in an unending stream. There were other jelly-like beings beside the glow-jellies: pulsating saucers like giant dinner plates with four-leaf-clover patterns of lavender or yellow at their center, or large white globes with undulating purple fringes and shrubby, spongelike arms sticking out from their undersides. Tiny, glassy slivers like living needles, visible only when the light hit them a certain way, flitting this way and that in the currents. Things that looked like flowers of every imaginable shade and hue growing on the rocks, petals waving carefree in the ebb and flow, but which actually turned out to be animals, their fluttering arms holding stinging death for any small fish that blundered against them. Spiny round balls, more like living pincushions than hedgehogs, which somehow knew to point their sharp quills at Winokur every time he approached, in spite of their apparent lack of eyes. Multi-armed star shapes that crept slowly over the rock faces, and fed upon mussels and oysters by pulling apart the double shells in slow motion and then sticking it mouth (or was that its stomach?) down between them. There was even one creature, like an ugly, dirty cucumber lying on the sandy bottom, which seemed to spit out all its guts at Winokur when he molested it ... and then slowly crawled off, easy as you please!

But most amazing of all, Winokur learned that day that there were some fish which actually flew! He first glimpsed them out of the corner of his eye, and thought he surely must be seeing things. But, when he mentioned it to Saybrook, the otter captain assured him that yes, there were indeed fish that used their side fins as wings for gliding, and could propel themselves with their tails in this fashion for quite some distance.

"But they're not good eatin'," Saybrook concluded, and dove back beneath the surface.

Winokur stayed up for awhile, treading water and bobbing in the wave swell, and watching the flying fish putting on their show. One had to look quickly to catch them, since there was no way to know where they would surface next. They did indeed glide in the manner Saybrook had described. Winokur was fascinated. Wait until he got back to Redwall, and told his Abbey friends about all this!

Undoubtedly, there were things in this wonderland to put fear into the hearts of even a brave and full-grown otter campaigner. Winokur encountered his first of these as he was intently burrowing after a clam. Glancing up through the silt he'd stirred up, he found himself staring into a nightmare visage of stalked eyes, spearlike antennae, and working mandibles. Winokur dropped his clam and pushed away in alarm, just ahead of the giant pincher that tried to snip him in half at the waist.

Winokur somehow made it to the surface without drowning in his panic. Saybrook and several of the others, noticing his rapid ascent, followed him up. Sputtering and spitting out water he'd inadvertantly swallowed, Winokur described the creature as best he could, not knowing whether he'd be believed.

Saybrook's face lit up. "Aha! A lobster, matey, that's what y' saw ... an' they ARE good eatin'!"

Winokur sputtered anew, this time in surprise. "But, but, that thing's bigger than any of us! And it just tried to make two otters out of me!"

"Aw, Wink! Ya just gotta know how t' handle 'em, is all! Tulia, Brot, fetch me some net cord - we'll show these landlubbers how it's done!"

And show them he did. Saybrook and the others with seagoing experience deftly demonstrated how several otters working as a team could safely bind the lobster's lethal claws shut. The otters were far swifter and more agile than the sea creature, not to mention far more intelligent, and in very short order they'd rendered the lobster harmless. Or nearly so; it was still able to swing its tied pinchers about like clubs, and the otters were careful to avoid them. Saybrook and six others each grabbed the lobster by one of its sharply pointed legs and, struggling valiently, bore the weighty creature to the surface.

Winokur and Warnokur studied it from several safe paces away once it was on the beach. "Egads!" the otter father declared. "Looks like a monster shrimp outta me worst nightmare! You sure this thing's good eatin', Cap'n? This armor looks t' be thick as me tail!"

"Oh, it ain't that bad!" Saybrook slapped the lobster on its long hind section. "'Nuff meat in this 'ere tail t' feed this entire otter regiment." He walked forward and patted one of the bound claws. "An' plenny more in these same choppers that almost cut you in two, Wink. An' tastier than any shrimp, lemme tell ya. Let's go see if we c'n find anymore, mateys!"

Saybrook led most of his companions back into the sea. Brot, Olimpo and Rosbor lingered, tangling the lobster's legs in netting so it wouldn't be able to crawl back into the water. The two Redwallers looked on in interest. "I say, how're we gonna kill this thing?" Warnokur asked.

"Well," Rosbor laughed, "first y' get a really, really, really big pot ... "

The otters ended up catching and landing two more lobsters before the day was done. These behemoths were added to a bushel of clams, a half bushel each of scallops, whelks and cockles, two bushels of mussels and oysters, and five bushels of shrimp. Some of this haul had already been delivered to the kitchens early in the afternoon so the shrews could get a head start on making shrimp soup and clam chowder for the evening meal. When the otters arrived later on with the rest of their catch, most of the shrews ran screaming from the kitchen area. Which was just as well, as it turned out, since otters were the only ones who knew how to properly prepare scallop, whelk and lobster. For the latter, they ended up having to raid the armory for battle axes and heavy pikes to get the lobster meat out of the shell. But everybeast who tasted it that night agreed that the final result was worth the effort.

Unbelieveably, the hungry army put paid to the otters' total catch in one sitting. Which meant that they'd have to do it all again the following day ...

There wasn't a single otter among them who complained. Thanks to the initiation given them by Saybrook and the few other "old salts," the entire squad was now quite at home in the offshore waters. And, being natural fishers, they would rather be doing this than anything they might have been assigned within Salamandastron. Winokur shared this view; he did not hesitate diving into the waves on his second morning. Indeed, he was eager as a pup to immerse himself once more into this miraculous world and to be engrossed, enthralled, entertained and educated by its myriad delights.

By noon they'd already assembled respectable quantities of shrimp, clams and oysters, all sorted up above the high tide line, and landed their first lobster of the day as well. Shrews bore away the shrimp and clams to the kitchens, but steered well clear of the king-sized crustacean.

Winokur encountered a crab near a large undersea cave. He and Saybrook surfaced to discuss the matter.

"Stay away from crabs," Saybrook warned with finality. "They're more dangerous than any lobster. Not enough meat in their claws to make 'em worth th' trouble."

"Okay. You're the wisebeast hereabouts." Winokur gazed toward the shore. "At the rate we're going, we're in danger of fishing out these waters. We're gonna eat up everything with fin and claw within a day's swim of Salamandastron!"

Saybrook dismissed the younger otter's concerns. "This ain't like yer fine li'l Abbey pond, Wink, or even th' big broadstreams. The sea's forever changin'. What's here today may well be gone tomorrow, but somethin' new'll take its place. We could keep this up all season an' barely scratch th' surface of the bounty that's here. Why, we ain't even gotten to th' true fishin' yet - herring, mackeral, pilchard, mullet, comber, tuna, blue-throat, haddock, shad, hake, whiting, cod, pollack, halibut, eel, plaice, flounder, sole ... "

"Wow!" Winokur boggled wide-eyed. "I guess there is always gonna be enough for us out here."

"There'd hafta be a whole lot more otters in th' world afore you'd notice any scarcity in th' sea," Saybrook said. "That's what makes it th' sea!"

Toward midafternoon a most peculiar creature shot by Winokur as he swam the middle depths between surface and seabed. Most literally it shot by, for it was shaped like a thick arrow, darting through the water in a wavering line. It went past him so quickly that he couldn't even have described it in any detail. Casting his gaze around him to see whether anymore were about, he glanced seaward ...

And saw a living wall of the animals advancing toward him at an alarming speed from the deeper realms. The undersea wall stretched from surface to sea floor, leaving no room for any otter to swim above, below or around it. And that wall - countless thousands of the arrow creatures swimming in unison - was aimed straight at the shore.

A few more of the things flashed by Winokur as he swam to the surface. He scanned the waves for his fellow otters. Maybe these arrowfish were harmless. Then again, the few that he'd seen up close seemed about as long as his flipper. With such numbers bearing down upon them, he didn't think it wise to be in their path either way.

Saybrook broke near Winokur. "Squid!" he yelled to the Redwaller and the few others who'd surfaced within earshot. "We gotta get th' whole squad to shore, right away!"

"Squid? Are they dangerous?" Winokur asked. But Saybrook had already dived again. There was no mistaking the urgency that had been in his voice. Wink too dove, following the otter captain.

Most every otter had spotted the vast school by now, and floated at the ready. The few who were still oblivious, mostly absorbed by their tasks on the bottom, were quickly alerted, and within moments every otter of the brigade was stroking powerfully toward the shoreline.

They'd never make it. The school had simply come upon them too quickly, too far from shore to make it back on a single breath. Maybe if they didn't have to come up for air they might have been able to hold their slim lead. But now it was either drown or be overtaken.

No otter would ever choose drowning; their instincts were just too strong to allow it. Automatically they came up for air, even though the forward edge of the squid shoal was already upon them. The otters would be eaten before they would let themselves violate their swimming nature.

And then it was over. Still many body lengths from the shoreline, the pursuing mass abruptly veered off to one side, like a gigantic animal sharing a single brain. Winokur realized they'd entered waters that were too shallow for the shoal to sustain itself. To keep up the chase, the squid would have had to compress their numbers so tightly together that there would scarcely have been any space between their bodies at all. Otters, it seemed, were not the only creatures prohibited by their instincts from suffocating themselves.

Twoscore-odd heaving and gasping otters staggered out of the breakers and collapsed upon the wet sand. Winokur found he'd fallen right between his father and Saybrook. "That was ... a lucky break ... huh?" the young otter panted. "What would ... those squids ... have done to us?"

"Oh, nothin', prob'ly," Saybrook wheezed.

"What?" the two Redwall otters declared as one.

"Matter o' fact," Saybrook went on, "would've liked t' try catchin' a netful or two of 'em. Under other circumstances."

"But ... but, why'd we run away, then? Because there were so many of them?"

"In a manner of speakin'. See, squid usually only run at night. Way I figger it, th' only thing that'd have that many squid on the move in the middle of the day would be somebeast we don't wanna mess with. I thought we'd best be outta the water 'fore it showed up." Saybrook sat up, paw to brow as he scanned the wavetops. "An' thar she blows!"

Every otter followed Saybrook's gaze. Out beyond the breakers, three shiny black mounds rose above the waves for a few brief moments. A misty spray geysered from each instant island, and then they were gone again. A splash of white was seen as each dove back beneath the waters.

A collective gasp went up from the otters. "Shikes!" Warnokur exclaimed. "What th' willy are those things?"

"Orcas, they're called," Saybrook replied. "An' I'd hazard that even Lord Urthblood himself would steer clear of a fight with 'em."

"I'll say!" Warnokur nodded. "I think each one o' those monsters could swallow ten otters at a gulp. Biggest spankin' fish I ever seen!"

"Not a fish, matey. Their blood runs as warm as yers an' mine. Orca's a type o' whale. You'll find bigger whales in th' sea, but you won't find any deadlier. Crafty as any fox. Even sharks have something t' fear from Orcas."

These sobering words put an end to the day's fishing activities. As the otters hefted their lone lobster up toward the mountain, the killer whales surfaced and spouted again as if in a taunting farewell as they gorged themselves on squid. It was a reminder to Winokur and the rest that they were only visitors to that realm. And it was best to be firmly on dry land when the true lords of the ocean kingdom made their presence known.

(_To be concluded in_ The Crimson Badger, Book IV: Fire on the Mountain)


End file.
